Martins fleck the sky above the Lyth,
And one keen-eyed kestrel combs
The gorse and bramble rough for food;
Higher still two buzzards sword the air
With piercing cries, quartering their land
For carrion and prey.
Beyond, across the valley, Caradoc and Wrekin
Hold their watch, just as millennia ago
They saw the legions march the road
To Viroconium; and later still saw Norman overlords
Dot the waste with mottes
To guard their new-won realm.
Ancient, these blue hills in the haze
Harmonise with farms and woods below,
Co-ordinate an age-old beauty
Which is Shropshire?s own;
And though I walk this way a thousand times,
That sudden vista from Old Coppice road
Will never fail to thrill.
? John Waddington-Feather