We clamber through the rocky brush
And suck the pith of lemons,
To hear the bells of mountain goats;
The music of the heavens.
As dusk glows slowly on the sea
And shines a beacon yonder
Apollo races us to bed –
We've many miles to wander,
Passing thyme and rosemary
The dandelion and crocus
Turn their heads in worship high
His chariot their focus.
A wrinkled goatherd homewards plods,
With not a thought for flowers
Or the many paths of Gods
That we have tramped for hours...
Composed in my weird mind as we trekked along this magnificent path above the Amalfi Coast (Italy)...
This is where I post tunes I've transcribed and bits & pieces I find interesting. A few old articles have been transferred from my old blog, The Daily Orator.