Poem: Where the heart is

My Creemore hills
are as tall as city towers. My Creemore glens
are as deep as lakes.
My Creemore glades
are a land of shady bowers. I walk their paths
and my soul awakes.

I know the lea
where the deer lies down in daytime. I know the lair
where the fox kits lie.
I know the scent
of the new mown hay at hay time, The songs of birds
‘neath a summer sky.

Her verdant fields
have the finest fertile soils, The glaciers gift
of a bed of loam.
Her hardy folk
give the gift of all their toils. Her sparkling streams
make the trout at home.

Here family trees
put their roots down deep in Creemore. Their family names
grace our graveyard’s stones.
Am I at peace?
I’ll say
that I couldn’t be more.
‘Neath Creemore’s sod
will I rest my bones.