Dreaming

 

I’m back again in landscape green and hazy,

To see again the beauty I once knew.

To wander with the white clouds soft and lazy

And fill my soul with this exquisite view.

Our little church bell high upon the hillside,

Still pealing its sweet tones across the glen,

Reaching in to every little fireside

Takes me back to childhood days again. 

To where each day I’d ramble o’er this greenery,

In harmony with birdsong sweet and shrill

To linger in the lap of joyous scenery

Or nestle in the bosom of the hill.

Ivy o’er the graveyard wall’s now creeping

Gently down to near the sacred ground,

Blessed clay envelops loved ones sleeping;

Only birds and breezes make a sound.

I softly tread and read the names and ages

And ponder how death discriminates,

For there I see inscribed upon stone pages

The elderly, the young and old schoolmates.

And then I wake and know that I was dreaming

Of childhood in our cottage on the hill

In misty haze or sunshine brightly gleaming

Sweet memories of heavenly idyll.

 

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