High on a hill the old one stands,

Her legs are bent and twisted like her old knotted hands,

And firmly she holds to that rock that she clings ,

As she bends her head so softly to the harsh, salt sea winds.



Enchanted lies her valley immaculate below,

And into that living sea she’ll watch her river flow,

And there held safe the legends and the mystery,

Of kingdoms lost beneath the waves of that living sea.



But she’s seen princes and kings while the parley and fight,

She’s seen bards of myth and magic while they play harp and recite,

She’s seen circles and tombs of glittering stone,

All from that rocky hillside that is her thorny home.



To olds is she now to bear any fruit,

And no longer do children sit and play at her foot,

She caresses those green hills with her undying gaze,

Over which a thousand suns have risen, in a crimson blaze.



And a whole hoast of moons of silver diffused,

Turn her dark cold river into a glittering muse,

And she’s seen princes and kings while they parley and fight,

She’s seen bards of myth and magic while they play harp and recite.



For countless years and seasons her vigil she has kept,

But now she looks around her and often now she’s wept,

For ravaged is her hillside with JCB they came,

To plunder beauty for money in holiday home shame.



And they’ll build 400 houses around that rock she’s known,

And none will be lived in and they’ll never be a home,

And they’ll kill that old thorn tree with no futher a do,

Coz some rotten old thorn tree was spoiling their view!



But she’s seen princes and kings while the parley and fight,

She’s seen bards of myth and magic while they play harp and recite,

She’s seen circles and tombs of glittering stone,

All from that rocky hillside that is her thorny home.