Treasure Island

William Barton


Blue Hills Beckon


Through the gate
And over the stile
Curlews calling,
Lapwings tumble.

Songs of skylarks
Melt and mingle;
Swifts and swallows -
Flick of an eye.

Stone walls glistening
climb the hill-side
binding fields
with ropes of stone.

In the sunlight
bracken burning,
streams cascading,
Blue hills beckon.

Submitted: Wednesday, May 09, 2012
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