The Path by Anita Campbell

Will we walk that path again, my love, the one down to the sea,

Where the sea grass grows and the purple thrift hides in the stony scree?

And the wind is full of salt and mud and birds glide on its back,

And the sky is full of Summer clouds and the water's deep and dark.

Will we walk that path again, my love, the one through fields and trees,

Where the larks rise, and the swifts wheel in the warm, sweet breeze?

And the woods are full of dappled light, and it's soft and cool on our feet,

And the flies buzz softly amongst the ferns, and the tracks divide and meet.

Will we walk that path again, my love, along the reed-filled streams,

Where we can watch the darting trout rise through the gilded beams?

And the kingfisher dives to the chalky depths in a halo of brightest blue,

And the buttercups dance to a merry tune as we go ambling through.

Our packs are light, my love, and our footsteps sure.

Our poles are strong and our maps secure.

They will guide us on, as they've always done,

To the end of the path, when our journey's done.