To stand on a hill top,
A moorland tor,
Over looking the land,
Feeling the wind on a face and on the hands,
A heart that is beating,
In time with a second hand,
Face warmed by the rays of the sun,
From high in the sky,
The day passes by,
Without a care in the world,
As the sun starts to lower,
To hide behind the hills and the clouds,
As the sky gets darker,
Night sets in in,
As the moon starts to rise,
With a lunar dim.....
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