Swift, the Rills
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swift, swift, the rills do run
swift, from high the mountain
swifter, tho', the running years
flowing through life's fountain
creep, creep, the brumal mists
creep 'midst fells and highlands
creeping 'round the peaks and years
mem'ries drowned like islands
drift, drift, my dreams to sea
drift, like thought and feather
drifting toward a mortal bloom
thick with highland heather
sleep, sleep, at last to dream
sleep, bides blessed and meek
sleep, come press a kiss goodbye...
so sweet, now... 'pon my cheek.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2021
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