Pamela Wyn Shannon Tis Rambletide In Ambleside
Tis rambletide in Ambleside Wind-
twisted trees, the thorn of you The
season's leaf is gold and red On lilting
paths they fall to bed
And we become brighter in our dying
And we turn golden as we fall
Spindle berries split and show Sunset-
colored seeds that glow The leaf fires
scent the air with musk Shadowed
spindle tree at dusk
And we become brighter in our dying
And we turn golden as we fall
Tis rambletide, so off I go
Through Ambleside, the path unknown
October fields of umber hue
Over rain-soaked rocks I quickly move
Can I walk through soft meadows and briars alike?
Can I move through with the thorn of you inside?
The knobbed and knotted arms I climb
To view the falling from up high In their
departure, I arrive With every leaf, a
floating sigh
And we become brighter in our dying
And we turn golden as we fall
Tis rambletide in Ambleside Wind-
twisted trees, the thorn of you The
season's leaf is gold and red On lilting
paths they fall to bed...
