You are the old cold

Tin mines that peak the distant landscape,

You are the bitter-sweet song of the birds

As they dance in the orange glow of sunset,

The soft call of the waves as they play with the seaweed,

You are the calm scent of salt as you approach

the beach under a pale blue sky,

Like the sight of a pile of crisp autumn leaves

As clear as the morning call of the cockerel.

You are the rare chance of snow fall

The child’s excited gaze as the flakes

Drift gracefully and start to settle!

You are my home.