Swallows on Whitestone Hills

 

I was high on the hills over Settle,

The day that the swallows returned,

            The haze on the whitestone shimmered,

            And the sun in the heavens burned.

 

            The bleating of lambs was a chorus,

            To the new summer song on the air,

             For god was at ease in his glory,

            And I was a stranger to care.

 

            I was free as the wind on the hillside,

            With hands that could hold and caress,

            Free to walk down a path to my lover,

            And be offered a reason to bless.

 

            For mine is the mind of a poet,

            Seeking grace in the eyes of a friend,

            Reaching out to the stars for a moment,

            Being lost in a love without end.

 

            Though I know and I feel I am mortal,

             I am lifted beyond even truth,

             For lost as I am in another,

             My ageing has given me youth.