Sounds of Dartmoor

 

The deep soothing silence of woodland and field

Is the dream of tired townsmen in moments of strife.

But listen – from sunrise to dusk you will hear

The magical sounds of our moorland life.

 

The gurgle of streams as they rush from the hills

Through lush sunlit meadow and cool ferny glen;

The wail of the peacocks, unearthly and sad,

Like a message from souls in the torment of Hell.

 

The nonchalant humming of myriad bees

Busy tending their secretive nest in the eaves;

The chickety-chatter of bluetits that dart

Like tiny green flames among darker green leaves.

 

The unlovely braying of donkeys next door,

The clip-clop of horses that pass in the lane;

The voices of men shouting 'Whoa there, girl!'

And the weird wild cry of the peacocks again.

 

The rasping of chainsaws, the tilling of soil;

There is life all around me, the sound of man's toil.

And most thrilling of all, on the darkening tor,

The bellow of bulls in the mists of the moor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

©1998 Barbara Godfrey & Black Cat Communications
All rights reserved