Honister Poem by Paul Reed

Your hands left this place wild

So that time could not effect a change

No feeble man, woman or child

Could it's beauty rearrange;



These stones are the same stones

That I once trod as a boy

And though dust will change my bones

Forever is their joy;



Overhead the buzzard sails,

On the streams the sunbeams dance,

In front of me the yellow wagtails

On the grassy apron prance;



A journey started sixty years ago

Bound for marshy slopes of sheep-chewed stubble

Buried since under life's mounds of snow

A distant memory amongst the rubble;



But now, full circle, I am here

Having lived that life, to laugh and cry,

Still the breezes blows pure and clear

Their ancient song will never die.