The moor is at it’s best <br />In autumn, with the air <br />Full of moisture, the place <br />Closed in <br />And melancholy. <br />One feels a sadness <br />That summer is over, . <br />But the season is rich <br />With the vivid colours <br />Of dying vegetation, <br />Colours that give you <br />Hope, for the future <br />Breathe them. <br />Bushy lichins and <br />Ferns grow <br />In secret places, <br />The Marsh Fritillary <br />Flies, <br />Rivers are clean <br />And Dippers live <br />Dangerously <br />Looking for food <br />In the fast flowing <br />Streams, <br />And Skylarks sing. <br />Flat rocks piled <br />One on the other <br />Precariously <br />And rocking stones <br />In balance with the <br />Universe, <br />Granite that impervious <br />Stone <br />Used for buildings <br />Tombs and crosses <br />And mans memorials <br />To himself. <br />He has walked <br />The moors <br />For thousands of years, <br />Tin and copper <br />And white china clay <br />Have been dug, <br />Woolly Mammoths <br />And reindeer have <br />Roamed the land. <br />But the people <br />Are gone now, <br />Cattle, sheep and ponies <br />Remain, and the moors <br />Are themselves <br />Healing the scars <br />Left by man. <br />Brown Willy, <br />You sit up on <br />The tops for hours <br />Just watching <br />The reflection of the <br />Earth in the sky, . <br />When evening draws <br />In, and darkness wraps itself <br />Around you, the cry <br />Of a curlew sounds like <br />The loneliest, the most <br />Beautiful utterence on <br />Earth.<br /><br />Mike Tonkin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bodmin-moor/
