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Red Kites

Dawn was close when I left the motorway;
It was my fancy to walk the Icknield Way.
I met the sun at the top of Shirburn Hill;
I saw the vale, and there was mist upon it still.

Nothing stirred in the early morning calm,
Save the kites over Portobello Farm,
Weaving dreams in the late September skies;
I lay me down and perhaps I closed my eyes.

She said she'd come from Saunderton that day;
Bound for Streatley along the ancient Way;
It was her fancy to leave the beaten trail
To see the kites and partake of bread and ale.

"A thousand years I've been climbing Shirburn Hill;
A thousand years and the kites are flying still."
I made to ask her the meaning of her words;
She kissed me long and she whispered: "Watch the birds."

We ate and drank and we made the sweetest love
Unseen by all but the kites that flew above.
Across the vale I gazed that perfect day,
I swear to God that there was no motorway.

She kissed me then, and her long hair brushed my arm;
There were kites over Portobello Farm,
Weaving dreams in the late September skies;
I lay me down and perhaps I closed my eyes.

Was I dreaming, or did we truly meet?
A thousand years and I'd not find love so sweet.
Across the moon flew a solitary kite;
I took the motorway and drove into the night.