The wind runs light across the hills, where golden daffodils now gleam,
And bluebells dance in shaded glades beside the brook’s meandering stream.
The robin sings upon the thorn, the blackbird pipes its morning tune,
And over all, the watchful hounds stand steadfast 'neath the sun and moon.
The ewes lie calm upon the field, their lambs new-born, so frail, so white,
Soft shadows stretch as evening falls, yet all is safe within the light.
For through the dusk and through the dawn, the shepherd’s hounds patrol the land,
No fox may creep, no wolf may lurk, while keen-eyed sentries make their stand.
The woodland stirs beyond the hedge, the night’s dark whispers softly call,
Yet glowing eyes and bristling fur shall never breach the farmyard wall.
The hounds know well their noble task, to guard, to ward, to hold the line,
And while they stand, the flock may rest, beneath the stars that brightly shine.
O loyal hearts and fearless souls, with bounding step and steady will,
Through frost of night and mist of morn, they serve their master’s purpose still.
No whispered fear, no shadowed threat, can shake them from their honoured place,
For duty calls, and in their eyes, a love untamed yet full of grace.
And so, as lambs find trembling feet, as petals burst and robins sing,
The world renews, the earth delights, in golden glow of fleeting spring.
Yet while the flowers bloom and fade, the hounds remain, so proud, so true,
For through the years, through all the storms, they guard the land as they must do.
The shepherd walks, his staff in hand, and nods to those who share his way,
His watchful sentinels of night, his comrades in the light of day.
And as he turns, the valley hums, the world at peace, both bright and strong,
For where the hounds still guard the fold, the land shall echo yet with song.
(By John Shenton)