The Path To Quarr

The Path To Quarr

Among the dead leaves, I wander quiet and slow, An evening breeze, From the west doth blow. What feet have trod, The rising path to Quarr, For here is God, From Abbey to the shore. Above a bare branch, Sways silently back and forth, Below the leaves dance, As the wind changes North.	A sparkling sheen, On the slightly dewed grass, A bubbling stream, As clear as crystal glass. And from far away, A robin red breast sings, The close of day, The sun in frosted rings. All in the evening sunlight, How I just adore, The pleasure of evening sunlight, In the grounds of Quarr.