A great wash of silvery grey
Crests the new-day’s sky:
An unfurling, billowing brow
Across the earth’s black face.
All heed, looking high, above;
Sparrowhawk, Hare, Human,
As drips and drops hit the sod;
As the valley, is again swallowed,
And though the wild gorse grips,
And the mud, slides and bogs,
I look to my megalithic shelter
Encircling the summit ahead,
Like a diadem within the wild mist.