Dartmoor

How bleak the moor
Heather for bed
Rock for floor
Hardy ponies bred

How wild the moor
Gorse yellow bright
Stome, rock the tor
Fog, ethereal fright

How desolate the view
Barren to the eye
Civilisation bids adieu
Wind, a restless sigh

How fare you in my land
Wandering at your will
Do you not understand
Your ancestors are here still

How fared they who wandered
Without care or intellegence
Their lives squandered
For lack of moorland sense

How beautiful the moor
What dangers does it hide
Run home and close your door
Let life outweigh your pride


Terry Rhiannyr
September, 2012