When the sun comes curling low, Down the corners of the hills, It whispers secrets, low and slow, Across the valleys, through the stills, Of morning mist and early dew, Inhale the wonders of the view,
- Dylan Thomas
When the sun comes curling low, Down the corners of the hills, It whispers secrets, low and slow, Across the valleys, through the stills, Of morning mist and early dew, Inhale the wonders of the view,