Spring time and I can hear the wild call of the curlew on the moorland.
Across the moor where the land is wild,
Cotton grass and reeds on every side.
Wind swept and fresh, freedom to roam,
Solitude and peace away from home.
Rest in stillness, a solitary time,
The world is calm, a moment so fine.
The silence is broken, with a distant cry,
A curious call with a pitch so high.
An eerie cry from a distant rise,
Curlew calling, the song of the wild.
Early Spring, this time of year,
Curlews delight with their song they share...