On a frost flected Dartmoor the frozen heathers have their say,

Bringing happiness in romote places that are damp and grey,

Later, the summer, will tailor the moors with a rich splended bloom,

But until then it’s the heathers that have to brighten the gloom.

Soon we will see the snowdrop, have its hour of fame,

In weathered stone, they will shine both in wind or rain,

The heather still grows mauve, pink and as white as snow,

So take a look at these flowery banks when cold and hoar frost chills,

This is a lifetime memory of tracks that tread the flowered hills.