| | | | A Spiritual Journey to Shropshire
by
Pauline Smith
(Stourbridge) | | I lift my eyes and like a zephyr soar,
Borne on a gentle breeze which carries me o'er.
My heart feels free and light,
For my beloved Shropshire hills I will reach before the end of night.
The home I left which I have loved so long,
To thee an anthem will be sung by heavenly throng.
For Wenlock Edge, for Buildwas and the Wrekin,
Wroxeter and Moreton Corbet I am seeking.
Places which throughout my life I have adored.
My spirit will seek out as it wings abroad.
Climes, imprinted on my memory,
Hereafter imbued by my spirit they will.
As the ghostly moon begins to wane,
I will be with you, my beloved Shropshire, on another plane. | | | | Crow. Old Crow. Ted Hughes's Crow.
Where is he now?
Out there still
See - in Corvedale
But his feet are old
Not firm enough to catch the rat.
Right now he's a night bird
Not looking for moles
But guzzling the sheep's turds
And making noises at the little owl.
Can't get enough of them
Old Crow is up again
Must eat, more dung
Before dawn.
And he cannot sleep for hunger
Can't stop to chew the cud. |
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