Tuesday, 10 January 2012

A Walkhampton Man

A cross, half-formed, angles out
From the slope of Gutter Tor.
Carved in-situ, once upright,
Now it leans, pointing North West,
Partially hidden from the sun.
Green moss, laid thick,
Despoils the surface,
Already cracked and scarred
From biting wind and rain.
Slowly, in a time
Measured by the season
The Goddess reclaims the stone
Laying it gently down
Back into the waiting earth.

There was a Walkhampton man,
We'll call him Gabriel.
He was fully-formed,
Steeped and matured
On the slope of Knowle Down.
Weather-wise, moss-free,
He knew which way to turn
Against a biting easterly.
All the tricks, the little secrets,
She'd hidden away,
He'd prise out with a crafty gleam,
Hoping she wouldn't see.
And maybe she turned a blind eye,
But in return, and slowly,
A time measured by the season,
She reclaimed him,
Laying him gently down
Back into the loving earth.

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