May His Soul Return Unto the Wilds of Exmoor
Mist folds o’er rolling hills of heather,
A clear melody plays on the sleepy breeze.
A greeting from his home to the homes of others,
As sunlight trickles through the haze, bathing the frosty earth, its streams and trees.
The sun, dancing, climbs and perches on the highest peak,
Illuminating valleys, gorges, fields – there, where creatures nest.
He stands alert and bold, eyes burning amber,
Youth bursting from his strong, proud chest.
His furry ears twitch left, then right; he feels the world awakening.
He’s stood awake throughout the test of seasons,
Watching loyally his friends, his herd, his family
Without a second thought, or reason –
Guarding their peaceful respite.
They run, among them he, pounding the earth, bigger, stronger.
The fearless fire that burns within his heart and lungs,
That fire will burn there, till it can no longer.
Until he must return into the clouds,
To different hills of thick dark manes, and hooded eyes and furry coats,
To beauty unlike any other. A family there, waiting, welcoming.
That he may run now on the breeze, without a worry; old, new friends right by his side forevermore.
Yet as he flies above us now, I hope his whinny carries forth
To sing good-bye to all those hearts he’s touched.
Beloved always, woven into the fabric of the hills,
From North to South I hope his journey leads
So that his soul may return unto the wilds of Exmoor.
- A. Zhigareva
Phone: 07582 834 171 (only monitored between May and September
Swanston Farm Our Edinburgh location, and home to a great Brasserie. Perfect for a hot drink after your trek!
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