For Jim Clark

The Berwickshire hills are still at night
only the sound of sheep at dawn
carries on the wind

A young man wakes to tend his flock
the mist a drink for noonday sun
round and round the cloven hooves
Jimmy knew the sound of wind

Always called the green fields home
from near and many faraway shores
a winding canvas, he did weave
Jimmy went round the wind

A shy smile donned his face in light
every circuit knew him well
dreaming of rolling hills at night
Jimmy, who rode the wind