I must go to the hills again
Where the earth meets the sky
Where the wind howls around your head
And where there is the buzzard’s keening cry.
And all I ask is a clear path, on which to walk
And, on its route, a sheltered meadow in which to lie
And all I ask is a clear day, with not too many clouds in the sky,
And all I ask is a lonely place, with out too many people passing by.
And all I ask is the distant sight of a village church steeple,
beside it a sleepy pub; with a garden and a cool spot out of the sun
And all I ask, is at the end of the day when the walking is done
When the shadows length, and I am too tired to run.
Is a bowl of water and the bone I am due.
Is somewhere to rest my paws, and in my dreams, rabbits pursue