Chorus:
The rose of autumn, the rook of spring,
The snowy cliffsides, the summer fields,
All, all are what our Rokeclif yields.
I've seen the Northshield's bounty, I've heard its stories told,
I've sung its songs of glory, I've felt its biting cold.
But I've not seen so warm a gathering...
Chorus
The lonely road is prison; I needed a new home,
And Rokeclif beckoned, trav'ler, no more need you roam.
I dropped my pack, I ceased my wandering...
The rose of autumn, the rook of spring,
The snowy cliffsides, the summer fields,
The glow that fellowship does bring,
The pride and pow'r our people wield:
All, all are what our Rokeclif yields.
Written for the Bard of Rokeclif contest, Autumn Rose 2000, Sept. 2, A.S. XXXV.
Music/lyrics © 5/29/00 J. Friedman
But the sentiment was heartfelt: my new Shire (well, it was newer then, but it's still only been a year and a half as I write this) is a place with so many possibilities, with gorgeous scenery and people with generous hearts. Although I never truly wandered (announced I was quitting my job in December, learned about the job in La Crosse shortly after, finished work in early February, interviewed soon after in La Crosse, was offered the job in April, moved end of April and began May 1), I did feel pleased to have landed where I did, and still do.
I still don't think I've seen a rook here, despite the fact that since they razed the pine forest outside my front window, I can now see the eastern bluffs in the distance. No matter. Etymologically, there MUST be rooks in the cliffs of Rokeclif. I simply haven't seen any of them yet.