This is June, in the soft blue haze,
Melting in the tranquil glow of midsummer sun.
Nature smiles to herself, prayers unspoken,
In the unspoken solitude, 'tis just begun.

Here, once again, we stand at Bel Tor.
Beneath wild beauty to the core;
Granite structures, gladiators stilled
Surmount the land's horizon evermore.

The serenade of gentle breeze plays through the sunlight,
Looking down on Dart Gorge below,
A mighty bed of trees in full leaf
Sheltering the soft steady roar of the Dart in flow.

Standing idly, leaning at the gate,
Gazing at a meadow till
We see playgrounds, long grass, buttercups and clover
Rise up together, a game of chess all standing still.

Mares graze contentedly, swish tails languidly.
Foals, spindly-legged, stagger up to school
To join their mothers.
Families born and bred here too.

Foxgloves sprouting proudly from greystone walls,
Paths long walked, long peaceful journeys made.
Bees weave their tangled routes, from here and there;
Lightning flights, a map displayed.

Overhead, crows are calling, larks are singing,
Midday's midsummer clarion call.
The soft brown murky scent of moorland
Breathes in, breathes out, embraces all.