A Moorland Day

Up on the windswept moorland,
Midst heather, sparse and bent,
Where the buzzards swing in circles
To the curlew’s wild lament.

The cock grouse crows on a lonely knoll
From the first white mists of dawn,
Till the golden plover sinks to rest,
As the upland night is born.

There on the untamed moorland
Where the winds blow wide and free
Life has flowed since the dawn of time
Unchanging as the sea.


Poem by Hugh Tetlow