and i walked upon the heath
on paths as thin as anorexics
seeking remains of things historic
and we found them(close at hand
for everything is close in this small land
Houses rolling over hills
inspired poems,songs and thrills
of encountering familiars
from many dreams millennial
It was cold and it was chill
yet a gentle warmth of smiles
insulated from those stones and rocks
that resisted feet and time.
In the company of friends
i walked among this Holy Land
where England was New Bethlehem
and Arthur's maidens sang him back
and Blake,Newton,Eliot,Greene
spirits heard and yet unseen
haunted every English dream
until the morning came,reminding
we are still in Texan scenes
and all those hills are Hill Country
and houses mansions with iron gates
defeat walkers into Paradise
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