kiss at the tor

...whenever I meet a kissing gate, I am reminded of a very particular and special one in Derbyshire that I wrote a poem about some years ago. The one in this blip is neither old nor metal but the words came back to me as we passed through it in a howling gale...

My soul was on fire, as I entered the wood
By the old rusty gate, which silently stood
Absorbing history, making no choice
Passing no judgement, adding no voice

The rough ancient path, veined with roots
To test my step, or scuff my boots
Unhurriedly followed the line of the brook
But this was not the path I took

I turned to the right, climbed up through the trees
Where bracken and brambles tugged at my knees
'til I reached the edge of the open moor
And strode on up to the lonely tor
Where first we kissed on that moonlit night
Where you held me close, as I held you tight

That was the moment I was truly born
My life before you had been tattered and torn
You gave me the courage to truly be me
You gave me your love unconditionally

Yes, my soul was on fire, as you came into view
On the edge of the rock, by the magical yew
And I knew, as then, you were only her ghost
The spirit of the one I have loved the most