How great thy vista to my eyes abound,
when late of time, I viewed mt Southland down,
fond childhood memories bid mt heart re-call,
times, when all the trees seemed so tall,
but now, the burning coals of fading day
ignite twilight moments where magic colours play,
and yon not forgotten village lies
harmoniously beneath its genial skies,
its people's thatch and heavens spire,
are gently washed with sunset's living fire,
whilst graveyards' cherished ancient Yew
reach down to kiss the coloured painted dew,
and evening primrose within its shade
with contrasting hues here displayed;
and all that sleep in hedgerows wild
live freely, like as the spirit of a child
whose innocence breathes the air of play
of rapturous joy like this ebbing edge of day,
to await morning's green-mantled care,
as day dissolves in all its wondrous flare,
such artistry each captured rainbow bring
the blushing tints of sweet remembering,
as woolen clouds, their floating charms interlace
the chasing sun, warmth of time, everlasting grace,
So, when the breath of life's no more,
my spirit shall stay by the waters of the Stor.