Walking in Aberfeldy
A poem
A poem
Morn, in yellow and white,
broadening out of the mountains
to squint on the foothills below the horizon,
in a haze of living blue.
Cool morning air rolling back clouds,
whose shadows rest quietly under a clearing sky.
Sweet smoke of burning twigs hovering in the lazy day.
A shimmer of golden sun through the trees
reflects a whole sea of foliage, shaken and broken up
with little momentary shiverings,
accompanied by strange laughings
and glitterings of silver streamlets.
Voices that charm the ear, and echo
with a subtle resonance in the soul.
The days when you dared to dream,
blithe with the bliss of Nature.
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