Ed P Buckley

Rookie (Cork Ireland)


The road to the lake is winding and steep
Sheep on the heather a lone vigil keep
Clouds on the mountain sit silent and still
‘Mid soft summer sounds as little birds trill

Sweet scent of heather and thyme fill the air
Nature unpeopled unsullied and fair
A hawk hovers high in soundless motion
Honey bees buzz with innate devotion

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