When time come knocking on my door
tracks and path will be no more,
"when time comes knocking on my door."
My ashes the four winds will blow
across the hills, across the snow.
Rucksack, pole and boots no more,
my legs the wind, the sun my soul,
every hill will be my goal.
Trees and rocks, gorse and grass
i may linger- i may pass.
To lay in the sun or under the snow.
To watch the sun rise, see the stars glow,
every season will be a magical show,
"lay on the grass or under the snow."
But while i can i`ll keep on walking,
tracks and paths, peaks and grass.
Jim Noond.