The Lady of the Flock
From side to side neath the sky,
Ranges the heather and gorse so high,
Many flagged in Blackdeek does water lie.
Clothes its world in knots that tie.
While Thro’ Blackheath, a track runs by,
The yellow-petalled flags stand tall
Nod their heads, as in freefall
She drops by for bathing privacy
Sady, Lady of the flock