Acres Wild

I’ll make love to you
In all good places
Under black mountains
In open spaces
By deep brown rivers
That slither darkly
Through far marches
Where the blue hare races

Come with me to the Winged Isle
Northern father’s western child
Where the dance of ages is playing still
Through far marches of acres wild

I’ll make love to you
In narrow side streets
With shuttered windows
Crumbling chimneys

Come with me to the weary town
Discos silent under tiles
That slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
On concrete marches of acres wild

By red bricks pointed
With cement fingers
Flaking damply from sagging shoulders

Come with me to the Winged Isle
Northern father’s western child
Where the dance of ages is playing still
Through far marches of acres wild