Lord on the Hill

These are the arms

To shelter poets

These are the fingers

Touching the pages of a life

These are the whispers

Of the ones who fell to ruin

The watcher on the hill

In the emptiness of night

From Kubla Kahn

To The Immortality of Love

A winter shelter

To the humblest of the doves

He greets the year's end

A bare as an empty page

He meets the spring before

The lengthening of the days

A choir of wings sits

In the loftiest of boughs

And in the stillness

Of the dawn applause in flight

The streets below full

With a thousand other lives

Climbing the hills to find the peace

Above the changing of the town

These are the fells that made you

These are the days of gold

That name you lord on the hill

He watched us come

And he soon will see us go

Sure as a journey immortalised in snow

And at the setting of the day he is a fire

Telling tales that only he could know