On the Malvern hills white snowdrops bloom
A cherished life but over all too soon
The grass is frosted, gives our shoes a smack
Looking West we’ll see the mountains Black.
The weather rolls and rotates like a clown.
As I walk, I am my favourite tunes
I want to run away with half a moon.
Not a human Voice to spoil the track.
No percussion,with its lively clack
Maybe there’s a witch but where’s the broom?
One way we see Wales, its Celtic sounds.
Where the Anglo-Saxons ran to ground
Behind us, Saxons’ cider we don’t lack
Enchanted orchards,Newton is in luck
The soft breezed air makes Elgar seem profound
Abandoned verbs are turning into nouns
How my heart sings 