They mined for tin
Beneath blue skies
Where skylarks sing
And swallows soar
And call of summer home.
Joyous the meadow pipit’s
Undulated flight
Low over tinner’s spoil
Now clothed in gorse
Pink Heather drifts
Along the edge
Of long forgotten mining lore.
Perky, the stonechat pair
Bob between bush and mire.
He bright and sporting red like hunting pink
She a modest brownish bird
Trilling gaily
Over the laughing stream
Which tumbles down
Off Holne moor.
Ruth Partridge 