Through the eyes of a wanderer

Feel the freedom of winds,

Softly caressing the brow

Of Welsh Hills.


Let your footsteps fall gently

Beneath brilliant blue skies;

Lift upward your Soul;

Let peace be your guide.


Fern and coarse moss

Lay forth your path;

The tingle of fragrance

Through your journey will last.


The sun at its zenith,

While lapwings soar high;

Clouds gently billowing

Reflect the pitched cry.


The journey is shortened

By each planted step;

Quickened by horizons

That offer snug rest.


Safe harbours are found;

Comfort settles fast;

Life is enjoyed;

Simplicity lasts.


Aug. 1986 © Will George.

Will George Poet