My heart is in the heathlands
In its stubbornness and peat
Where the brave larks are singing in the breeze
Where wild owls fly in the moon low sky
And the stone hare stares with her amber eye
And the soft wind is rustling the reeds

So lay me down in heather
Dressed in bog-soft cotton
Wind me up in willow from the fen
Where high snipe are drumming
And the Curlews are lamenting
And I will be a heathen once again
#CoSopoetry