THE WEALTH OF A DARTMOOR VILLAGE. 

I went for a walk alone, by myself,
Off the beaten track, where Roman feet once Trod,
Shrouded in the mists of time,

'Twas down yonder I wondered , under the old Southern
 Line Bride,

All that carries now is the haunting sound in folks'
 Memories,

When the sound of Steam was heard in this Communtiy,
When not one line did they have,but Two, Great Western,
 And Southern,

Summer was far gone, I soon came to the conclusion
 That the Miller had gone too,

Taken leave of his decaying Mill,
Beside The Lyd,

Overr the water by way of an old wood bridge, I went on my way,
Frightened by the sounds of my own two feet,
Crushen the fallen Autmn 
Leaves,

And so I ran, breathless into light,
To a fork in the road,
Reminding me of chances taken and missed,

The Stately home of Squire Radford I passed,
"Ingo Brake" by name,

Into my head c ame nmany thoughts,
At the bottom of Gorge Hill, I paused,
To stop, to stare, into the rushing Gorge, where "The White Lady Falls"
 And "Devils Cauldron" swirls 'n' foams,

Up the other side I huffed and puffed
Again heading toward the Village from whence I came,
In tuimes of Ethelred Coins were minted here,
St. Petroc's Church too, has many , many treasures,
Epitaph to of a watch makers Tomb, The Smithy's Wheel wright Stone!
Edmund Fry, lays here, Thatcher, and Folk Sing Supreme!
It was he who first came east across the Tamer, To view The Wealth of a Datmoor Village.

Lydford, - Englands largest Parish,
That covers most of the Duchy and its moods,
A Prison was Established here, for Englands enemys, and her Outcasts,

Again I paused to stopn To stare,
And look, at the Castle, Tasting Bitters,
For Judge Jefferys did hold his bloody assizes,
Casting People into dungeons deep,or to the Hangman's Gallows,

As I wondered back through the Village, friends and acquaintances I meet,
I stop and pass the time of day,
Exchanging news and gossip of the day,
When all at once, I muse again, concerning the
 Tors

Arms and Doe, White and Brea,
Or Widgery if that is what you Prefere,
Looking down on tumbled brook, and Granite Way,
 With her Cross,

Golden reign,

Beyond the Village, is the road,where coaches of old once rolled,
 In search of Tin, Silver, and Ore,

All that and very much more,
Is our Wealth, The Wealth of a Dartmoor Village.