The call from the curlew as he flies across the moor is an amazing sign of Spring.
A haunting cry from the wilderness.
Across the moor where the land is wild,
Cotton grass and reeds on every side.
Windswept and fresh, with 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 haunting cry,
A curious call with a pitch so high.
An eerie song from a distant rise,
Curlew calling, the song of the wild…