Simple dreams in silent woodlands

Ionion whispers at the core

Obtrude their cogent laughter calling

Bhan of woodland’s fairy tor.

Harvest Moon in silver splendour

Another whisper gently calling

Near to the waters softly falling;

Pebbles dance in river’s roll.

Etruscan smile, eternal grandeur

Trapped by moonlight spinning droll

Raised the splendour of that thunder

And rain falls gently on this tor.