Drinking Under the Moon

"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh


The soft ground of home, dark and kind

upon this enormous mound

and in this moss and heather, our northern souls we find

to its roots, its grass, its whispers bound.

A wilderness from moor to moor

blanketed all in a wildflower snow

it is you outside we see as poor – sweet ones.

For in a winters darkness, a northern heart will glow.


Walk here in hottest beating sun

through fields upon fields to a cool dark wood

as if in gold our barley spun,

and trees who for a hundred years have stood.

True north you’ll find in quiet small towns

whose streams and becks and village greens

are decorated with their bluebell crowns

Who stand tall above the rest like queens.


In a colder christmas time

we sit and warm our hands by fires

rain-battered and less sublime

all hiding out in dark stoned shires

this wettened land you’ll think little of

though our flowers lie in wait for spring

those snowdrops  emerge like a white rock dove

as well as warmer weather it will bring

the moors their purple covering.







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