Common Heath
By Lazar M
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.