The gentle rise of land Through meadows of fine grass Up ancient drover tracks Cobbled and worn though time Walls cloaked in moss and liverwort Grey lichen hanging from stunted oaks Draws the walkers upward to The moorland gate. Soft swathes of grass And bracken flanks Lead to the babbling of the brook Over granite slabs We nimbly step; At Glasscombe mounds of stones And ruined walls Lead conversation to ancient times The boundary wall becomes our guide The eastern brook provides a ford And then Ball Gate Elaborate balls and granite columns Tell of a forgotten age The banks here adorned with flowers Painted heather and flames of gorse Amidst jewels of berries bright. Through lush growth we descend On ancient routes that trace the edge And finger down in secrecy To meet the tiniest track Like veins they wander and connect And draw us down the hill As moor is left and fields merge Seamlessly a change The track widens, becomes a road Until the stream is met And crossing a stile and past the woods We have made our way right back.
One thought on “A Dartmoor Walk”
The omission of punctuation (bar the final full stop) is inspired.
The subtle and leonine rhymes only adding to the rhythm of walking over uneven ground.
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