Chalk And Flint

The hills that I remember roll so gentle up and down
The chalk and flint were draped in meadows lush from ample rain
The ancient path along the ridge was just a place to play
The castles there just earth and ditch as much as old remain
A white horse I had thought could be on any hill inscribed
And circled stones appeared to be as common as the wren
The charm of childhood spent in magic places without awe
Oh how I miss the innocence of my existence then
A Wiltshire boy will soon become a man of other land
Already travelled far the gypsy heart that loves to roam
But hill top forts and trading routes of ancient man become
The landscape in my dreams that is quite simply known as home
And after all the world I’ve seen will I return at last
To lie within the chalk and flint of generations past


Author: thepoetautist

A Gay poet of fifty odd years who is currently living in Cambodia.

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