Write about the place you dream of living someday . . . .
In an Ancient Kingdom
Anywhere, as long as there is water.
So here will do. I'd watch the quiet Tweed,
the anglers' expert wrists, the flash of sunlight
from their lines and lures, and peer into
the deep, dark, peaty pools where cautious trout
gobble and gaze and will not take the fly.
Or walk the uphill track to Linhope Spout
deep in the Cheviots. The legends say
this pool is bottomless. The river Linn
flumes from an overhanging scarp and flings
its moor drained torrent in. Wet-suited boys
follow the fall. They say the colours change
from clear, through yellow, yellow-green and brown
and brown to deepest black as they plunge down.
Here will suit me. I'll cheer them at their sport,
hurrah their heads as they come bobbing up,
yelling the thrill of being bold, and young.
And maybe best, to take your evening walk
along the low-tide sands at Bamburgh.
The sea is quiet. The breeze has strolled away.
Close to your feet the small waves lap and roll.
Inland to west, the sky turns red and gold.
The sands stretch on and on. The air turns cold.
Folk with their dogs pass by with quiet "Goodnights"
The brighter stars show us their little lights.
This lovely land. This good place to grow old.
