The many places I have seen in pages of the magazine,
home to the friends who love to talk of countryside they often walk.
Silent Valley where no bird sings, silent songsters on vibrant wings,
beauty that takes your breath away leaving you with nothing to say.
Lush, green grass with smell so sweet and springy touch beneath the feet.
Majestic and proud, Mountains of Mourn, pink/grey tints in light of dawn,
creeping down to join the sea, granite domes of solemnity,
capped with snow or drenched with rain wait for spring to return again.
Shrouded in mist or kissed by sun towering shadows when day is done.
Hidden by curtains of the night ready to catch first ray of light.
So much beauty, please let it be my joy, this emerald isle to see.