Saturday, 5 September 2015

On Shoreham Hills

                                  a small English village with a big heart

On Shoreham Hills,
I sat a thousand years,
And watched the seasons change
Like fields, from green, to brown, to white.
And on those hills,
I saw the Norse arrive and change the way of things,
Our lives belonged to others now.

On Shoreham Hills,
I watched as paths were walked a
Hundred million times, which turned to
Roads, and streets and lanes,
The poor, the plagued were taken in
And healed and fed, and given up
To God’s own grace.

On Shoreham Hills,
I saw the wooden structures changed to stone
And homes were built to hold those hearts
That felt this secret valley
Theirs to keep.
I sat beside, as William Blake did spy Jerusalem
Among the waters of the Darent streams,
Forever caught by Samuel Palmer’s paints.

Then one fine day, the smoke appeared of rail and train
And in our hearts, we knew those hills were not for only us.
I lifted eyes to watch the Zeppelin raids on London Town,
Replaced by Messerschmitt and Spitfire trails.
The buildings rose, as did the streets
Our village grew to meet the age.

I sat on Shoreham Hills, a thousand years
To watch it comfort and console,
And as I watched the sun arise,
I hoped to sit a thousand more.

Bobby Stevenson 2015
http://www.randomactsstories.blogspot.co.uk/
http://shorehamkent.blogspot.co.uk/

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