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Geoff Stuttaford
MOORLAND SEASONS.
Come with me to the Moorland grey and I'll show you the blanketing fog.
Thick and dank it comes rolling in and hides both the cliff and the bog.
On a gentle breeze the moistened air kisses the granite walled pound
Where the animals hide from the soaking cloud that muffles every sound.
Come with me to the Moorland white and I'll show you the ice and the snow.
Deepening drifts on the easterly wind that howls over valleys below.
The farmers are out with their bundles of hay to feed the ewe and the cow
And the red haired fox is hungry and slim, but there's little provender now.
Come with me to the Moorland green and I'll show you the gorse and the heather,
Long soft grass and fire-formed rock that has been there for ever and ever.
I'll show you the streams and the tumbling falls that follow the rainy weather
And the blue dotted sheep that roam the slopes and the crow that has lost a feather.
Come with me to the Moorland gold and I'll show you a haven to lie.
In a scented wood we can touch and kiss yet still see the clouds in the sky.
The sun in the west will set ere long and the stars in their glory shine
And only then, in the evening air, will you really and truly be mine.
Geoff Stuttaford
Oct 99
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