AMBLESIDE MUSE.


From Troutbeck 
Did a Bus we ride,

Bring Autumn  sickle,
Harvest Wind,
Drinking,
With Mine Eyes,
Whilst cruel is your month,
In  colours resplendent,
Helicopters fall,
To children's Playground antics
                           Known,

Wistful Time,
Of green undoing,
Spoken in Face of Teal,
Are Langdales,
Below,
When crossing Her mirrored
Pond,
Through Golden mists of Celestial
                             Core

And did Jemima come running
Up the hill,
From Yew Tree Farm?