Over the planted conifers, 

Next to ploughed open fields.

Miraculous creatures of forty or more,

Whirling and circling before their bedtime calls.

Far-flung are these oceans of green,

Featureless horizons of repeated scene.

Once the harvest was a joyous of thing,

With corn dollies, fiddles and farmers that sing.

Now it seems there is little time for chat,

Pressure for more has put a stop to that. 

Our Isles is a project celebrating and preserving the rural life of the British Isles,

exploring its food & drink, landscape, nature, art, craft, heritage and community.

© 2019 OUR ISLES |