Peace is a place in the heart
Soft and sweet, the echoes haunt the green hills of my memories,
where dances the music, and stories, and joy of times gone now.
Myths, music, and legends woven together under the verdant trees,
to hint at times and places when magic was common, and heroes didn’t bow.
Dancing feet floated in a jig across the rough sawn plank floors,
and the beat of them in counterpoint to the music so darling sweet.
The smell of the damp, wind tossed fens, and fog shrouded moors,
where lives still the possibilities of myth, and magic, and mysteries so fleet.
Sunrise brings the bright colors of the coming day to life around,
and we feel the renewal in ourselves as we scent the sea dew washed air.
But, sunset brings the story hours where anything can and does abound,
and once more the heroes rise, and every damsel is sweet and fair.