Common Heath

Upon a hill they hang in rows

Crimson bells with joy they chime

The softest breeze through them blows

A fragrance sweet, a scent sublime.

Amongst the heath and rising peaks

Does it choose to grow and thrive

Specks of colour by boulders bleak

Decorate the mountainside.

Wither at the touch of frost

Blossom in the Christmas clime

Fate deems it never lost

Imprinted on pages of time.