On the slopes of the hill as dawn's lamp lights the sky
The little brown lark from the bracken does fly
A thing of great beauty so pleasant to hear
His distinctive carolling melodious and clear
A thing that I loved as a very young boy
As an ageing migrant I still do enjoy
In memory it does seem that time does stand still
A musical speck high above the brown hill
Up to the gray cloud World he sing as he flies
Such beauty so pleasant for to visualize
From such a thing Nature's own beauty is made
The song of the lark from the memory doesn't fade
In fancy I can hear him singing today
Above the brown mountain from here far away.
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