~

moorland calling ( gnillac dnalroom )

…

yonder whispers in the bonce
fuck the ‘rona, it’s a nonce
roam beyond the tips of tree
seek the tors & all at once

where the uplands kiss the sky
higher than a butterfly
hare upon a heather sea
with a twinkle in y’eye

see the seasons shifting shapes
april is a playful ape
or a soaring bumblebee
seeking greener scenes & scrapes

moorland calling, walk the dog
trudge above the river’s fog
plod along & wander thee
kiss a frog within a bog

lick a toad – we never know
breathing where the breezes crow
there the air is sugar-free
sweeter than a syrup though

chirrup on a speckled morn
whistle ’til a hymn is born
moor’s the pitch but not pih-tee
spring is singing summer’s spawn
…