Tags

, ,

Snow on the Mynd 

Up from the valley we journey, 

Up on the narrow winding road;

The snow deep on the moorland now, 

Tiny shivering lambs run to the ewes

As we pass by.  

Swirling mist engulfs, and still

The snow flakes fall;

A solitary bird wheels and swoops 

To the White earth, running across

The snow covered heather.  

Above the banks of mist, 

other peaks are revealed

With snowy patterns on their 

Slopes, sketched by the wind

In fanciful eddies.  

Christina Elliott.  





Advertisements