Those shy hills



This poem that I stumbled across in a Sheffield Clarion Ramblers  handbook from 80 years ago captures perfectly why there is plenty of local hills that can be enjoyed every bit as much as the higher mountains.

Some men love the high hills,

The reaching to the sky hills,

Mountains with their caps of virgin snow,

I love the low hills,

The rolling, heath clad low hills;
Hills where bracken and the purple heathers grow.

The high hills are the cold hills,

They challenge men to climb their lofty peaks.

But the low hills are the shy hills,

And I will call them “my hills”;
For they call me ever - ‘tis a loving voice that speaks.

Leonard Dixon
Sheffield Clarion Ramblers Handbook 1944-1945. p7

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