Upon the Moors

Upon the moors …

I ramble on and on and on

where the wild wind

blows its chilling song

through a dry-stone wall

among the stones

through dry dead heather

bleached white as bones

where black soft mud

beneath my feet

and tea stained waters

of gentle peat

where the rain washed

spread of white

quartz sands

eroded lie

across the lands

and where coarse

waxy grasses sag

over cool undercuts

of black peat hags

in this landscape

naked, bare

my soul forever

stops to stand and stare

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