Walk Back To Drum Hill Poem by Phil Lowe

See those happy cowslips bold yellow against the sky-blue,
hugged close by blackberries waiting green for September picking.

Many a gathering are there of dock cured stinging nettle,
many a scotch crowned purple thistle.

As Morley lane rises dusty to the campsite
crickets crack hot in the goosey meadow.

The bluebells fairy caps nod among the heavy ferns.

A monstrous hare springs surprised across the open campsite
and into the all concealing gorse.