Poem
Vestiges It was the last of it - Trailed alongside rough stone walls Or under trees where shadows stick - Slumped snowmen or heaps by driveways This hidden world turned green again. But in the solitude of altitude Still whiteness still upon the moors Wadding treacherous hollows. Up there, I found a ewe once - Suffocated by a drift and stiff Above Eyam - The lamb inside her frozen And nothing left to do. Oh where shall we go Now May’s already calling? This life is but a passing show Where once white snow was falling. And all that remains is lost. from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/9rl4niW