The chalk cliffs gleam, a spectral white,
Where pilgrims whisper, day and night.
A traveler’s path, the South Downs Way,
A hundred miles, of chalk and clay.
From Seven Sisters, grand and bold,
To Winchester, a town of old.
.
In every step, the weary soul,
Finds solace, to make the spirit whole.
Through grasses green, that gentle sway,
Where sheep graze peacefully all day.
The windswept downs, a bracing air,
A tapestry of sights so rare.
.
A shepherd’s hut, a lonely sight,
Like a beacon in the fading light.
The buzzard circles, high above,
A guardian of this peaceful love.
Each mile a prayer, a silent plea,
For strength, for grace, for liberty.
.
The Downs unfold, a sacred space,
A timeless journey, slow of pace.
At journey’s end, a sense of peace,
The weary soul, who finds release.
The South Downs hold, a magic deep,
Where memories and spirits sleep.
©Joseph R Mason and Richard J Kirk – 2025
If you like what you read, treat me to a coffee: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/josephiu
Thank you.
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