An ancient bridge Spans moorland gorge Deep running Clawing at the rock; Smooth worn boulders Undercut And crystal pools Dark hollows block; A cobbled path will take us still, Smooth worn by constant tread; Age old route beside the river Leads up to Lydia Mill. Moss covered rocks line the way Tumbling along its line; Trees overgrown and leafy shrubs Restrict this view of mine. Sheep though graze beneath the boughs To shelter from the rain, Tucked in and hidden well Till showers have passed again. The way,though short,is special still What waits is worth a view; The water tumbles down with force Primeval smells of damp earth ensue. The climb is short An ancient stile Of stone is at the ridge; Beside darkened pools the final task To reach this ancient bridge.
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