Saturday, 14 November 2020

Up On The Moors

 I met a man up on the moors,

In fog and mud and almost night,

In drizzle, dampness and in sight

Of no one else. No heather there, or yellow gorse,

Just barren emptiness and gloom

And yet on waking from this dream

I felt the scene had been my room

The chalky, grey green colour scheme

Through open eyes, while sleeping seen.

Who was the ragged man I met?

I felt, on waking, I had been

To make a pact, yet I forget

The nature of our strange contract.

Yet deep relief flowed through my veins,

I knew that things would be alright,

As if I'd burst my heavy chains,

And was now free and safe, despite

The lonely place I wandered in,

The only place with wonder in,

The place of dreams, which yet are real,

Which do not tell, and yet reveal

Such things we might not dare to know,

Much more than what they seem to show.

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