Memories of Winter on a Dorset Moor

Image of England by Graham Rains ©

Memories of Winter on a Dorset Moor

O! To stroll again on Dorset's rugged moor
Of tranquil memories, vivid and so pure
Where endless precious hours were often spent
And not one isolated moment did I lament
Those momentary things inconsequential
But with each minute, view God's beauty - quintessential.
To feel the crisp of frost-covered heather beneath my sole
And heed the greens and purple where 'ere I stroll.
I felt not, bare-leg'd skin when rent by prickl'd gorse
Though ne'er once did I feel anger or remorse
At mother nature's loving, playful ways
That she bestowed upon me in my bygone days
O! To watch again grey smoke billow from the stack
Of toy-like engines with carriages, red and black
Chugging forward busily on tracks of steel
Creating visions haunting and surreal
Over restful, matted heath and moor-land stream
Onwards, towards their journeys into nowhere, it would seem
Cutting swathes across the isolated heath
Their vented steam a-rising from beneath
And country folk who ne'er the fare could pay
Yet with their eyes enjoy their regal splendour
Majestic as an artist's eye would render.
They, to pace the hour-long walk along the track
From their humble cottages and back
To hear the mournful voices of the plover
Exchanging anxious calls to one another
When the wat'ry moon begins to slowly wane
And icy patterns form upon the window-pane
The skaters' frolics cease upon the frozen pond
As Jack Frost puts aside his wintry, magic wand
And hoary mists lay still upon the ground
He disappears into the night without a sound
When the time arrived for all to cease their roaming
I would depart for the warmth of home amid the gloaming

By Harry E Wheeler ©

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