by Thomas Joseph Walton AKA West Cheshire Lad Hark! ‘Tis for me the stormcock’s striking note! Sentinel on poplar bough, bugler o’er castle moat! My carol: - the wild shout of challenging mistle thrush, Piercing trumpet call shrill o’er hawthorn bush. Farewell! My heart pangs of a bygone day, Of many happy hours, years in a flowered bouquet Embraced in years to the perfumed rose. Ah, so short the day, my sweet repose. Call again, O wind on summer plain! Your whispering byways I will travel again. Come! Drink again the breath of wild thyme, Awakened to your peaceful beauty, joy sublime. Entranced, I gaze on lofty rocky crag, Silhouette of the battle-scarred old warrior stag. I’ll take the walk on pastures green again, To feel the breath, the beating of your rain. Alas, - the visions that flash before my faded eye Of birds on wing, as feathery clouds float by. What bliss I found, my childhood days to roam Along your leafy lanes, your fields of furrowed loam. When