Lakeland Mornings

Lakeland Mornings

I'm striding the cliffs at the clouds rocky shore,
Below, a valley is waiting to breath.
I'm hung in the dawn at the birth of a world
That only the heather-sleepers dare to conceive.

There are specks in the air, or is it the eye,
Till I focus above at an eagles gold flight
Which is mocked by the cough of a following chough
As it cries to the farmsteads still swaddled in night.

Remembrance is the scent carried sweetly
From the flower bells rustling over cold tarns,
And the sound on the thermals gently whispering
Is but of owls setting home to stone barns.