Where meadow meets meandering stream
across the bridge there rises green,
a gently sloping grassy mound,
upon whose heights all heaven is found.
North West the town of Ross on Wye,
while South, the Severn winds on by.
All around the Forest of Dean;
those deep dark woods of which I dream.
And here though I was barely five,
deep within me dawned alive,
chords of creations sacred song;
whose strains remain my whole life long.
Graciously a gift was given;
Inward sight or intuition.
Awareness of a hidden world;
where untold truths to me unfurled.
And still with inner ears and eyes,
I glance beneath the outward guise;
and see all nature strangely shine,
with mystery deep and so divine.
That mystic impulse softly draws,
all of creation to its source.
And with this flow I feel at one,
a reconciling work is done.
Copyright Jayne Webb 2018.