Lakes And Stuff Poem by Andy Brookes

Going to the lakes I should write of majestic hills,
fast flowing streams, mist rising with the sunrise
over Windermere and Ullswater.
cold rushing becks and mighty cascades
towering yellow and grey lichen covered cliffs
hills gloried in amathyst heather
or green valleys dotted with Herdwicks
wind swept mountains plunging into the sea
but all I can think of is stones, stones, stones,
my poor sore feet and aching bones