Swaledale on the Moors, 2021

Sheep on the moor road
Sheep on the moor road,
apparitions
in the mist of the low-lying cloud.
It was just yesterday
I cowered from the beating sun.
Today I dare not stop in fear of the cold.
Sheep on the moor,
apparitions,
like in a dream
where Marcia is there
suddenly by me on the street.
Broad river, flat land, small town
as wondrous to me
as her welcome.
She,
lithe, light, fair, pale skin,
for those months she wanted me.
The love disappeared from her
as if it were never real
like the sheep on the moor.
I search the plains,
the rivers, the coasts,
the mountains.
Never is she there.
My face can freeze,
my limbs can burn
but my heart never ceases to beat for her.
The sheep on the road
bleat

for their lost ones.

Author unknown