Millstone grit

Compacted river laid crags,
wind weathered, faces lashed
to wear lined erosions
picked out in saxifrage rime.
Here, I rested, fledgling nestled,
embedded in July bilberries.
Mossy liverwort pillowed
daydreams, hazed lazy vision;
domino dot sheep strewn valleys.
Sun warmed waxed paper treasures,
sharp creamed Lancashire tasty,
crisp doe skinned apple. Ripe
swathing scent of the heath,
heather mounds mounting
beyond dark ranked woods
marching at your heels.

Season's livery changes,
but you remain
my surestone.

2004

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minor edit 20.03.10