SUMMER LONG
This elder splashed world, this rippled bourne,
A thousand round cream horizons
Stretching to light’s limit.
Sunlit words scatter on green tongues,
A bee wind, rose-scented, wavers.
This land breathes its hills and hollows,
The folding and unfolding of Time.
simonhlilly 
Love especially the closing line, Simon. Has a sort of Buddhist feel to it. Lovely.
Thanks, Jamie. The last two lines were actually conceived as a part of some text on a wood sculpture I am doing at the moment ( bowl shapes with landscape names:hills, valleys rivers of the places round where I live)