Pendle Hill

Past Pendleton, up, through mist and rain,
 To Sabden by a foggy lane,
A sleeping elephant, green and pleasant,
 Rises, majestic, from the valley plane.

By Clitheroe that hill bewitched,
 Astride the long, grey bypass pitch,
Calmly waits for travellers gait,
 Unchanged through centuries that glorious niche.

On a fine Spring day from Kemple End,
 Serene is the view that hill subtends.
Within that stretch of dewy splendour,
 A sight to behold, sore eyes to lend.

Unchanged while time has left its mark,
 By the swaying trees and twittering lark,
The Ribble ripples, swerves and trickles,
 Through a land that dwells within my heart.