The Cold Tap Sings

the p-word

TODAY

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Today

up Wessenden the goblinesque
laughter of a grouse rang
out across the moors
through rufous
bracken
then echoed &
reechoed off the slate
of the wind-wracked fells
up there ‘where snipe work late’

TOMORROW

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Tomorrow

we’re going up Wessenden
to walk among the bracken
the reservoirs the weirs
the waterfalls where water
falls from an evergrey sky
we’re going up Wessenden