THE MOOR.

When haze of heat,
Is lifted,
Comes my way,
Heather is a Woman,
Clothed  in   swathes of  Purple,
Mixed with green ‘n’ Gold,
                   Lay,
 
Across this fated carpet of  Summer,
Which is The Moor,
You Sky Lark,
Sound,
Over River ‘n’ Tor,
Granite,
Rock, of Ages,
Pour,
Life,
Bray, Deer, Seasons, four,
 
Speaks a blaze,
You brooding Face,
Does thy Sheep,Black
In swathes,  Come,
Colour ,
Oh thy Moor, this scared Moor, 
                                   
Then   you Sisters, Sisters two,
Dance , Dance, whilst you May,
For our days  shall end,
My  Friend, my loving Friend,
With your Moor Town Winter,
                    Steeple Toll.