Where the white land is green and young
but the songs still mourn
for generations gone
in the mists of waiting
on the mountains across
where life is hard and old
where the fireplaces always burn
marmots raise their noses
by the elderly sitting there
picnicking and painting
the creeping broom and the round table
beyond the camomile fields
on the mound behind the heather walls
and the fern hedges in the narrowdale
that still are waving there on the helmets
of drowned iron soldiers
I muse about life and I eat
chocolate at the camel river
Today no mists on the hill
where once stood the Lion Fort
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 4:02 AM UTC
Where the white land is green and young
but the songs still mourn
for generations gone
in the mists of waiting
on the mountains across
where life is hard and old
where the fireplaces always burn
marmots raise their noses
by the elderly sitting there
picnicking and painting
the creeping broom and the round table
beyond the camomile fields
on the mound behind the heather walls
and the fern hedges in the narrowdale
that still are waving there on the helmets
of drowned iron soldiers
I muse about life and I eat
chocolate at the camel river
Today no mists on the hill
where once stood the Lion Fort
