Asturian Mountains Poem by Robert Melliard

It's like a little Switzerland.

The mountains, I admit, are not as high
and there's much less snow in winter
but you can still ski or snowboard
and kids can make snowmen or use a sleigh.

On Sundays we would walk for miles
without seeing houses or cars
and the high air cleaned our lungs
from a week of city gunge.

Those times are over now and so we miss
the autumn leaves in ancient forests
or picnics seated on a fallen trunk,
with views for a king or queen.

With the cash we'd spend in a restaurant
we bought the best ham, cheese and bread
and food tasted ten times better anyway
because we'd tramped uphill for hours.

I shouldn't really publicise these facts -
crowds of visitors might spoil things,
but Asturian mountains make the grade.