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When I was far away, from you!
I walked across the Yorkshire moors,
all springy underfoot,
as clouds passed over me; some white
and others black as soot,
I found myself, begin to write,
but only in my mind,
I left my work and all concerned,
where they would wish; behind.
Between great clumps of heather I,
found pleasure in pursuit,
of freedom from the roads of men,
conformity and loot.
Whilst sitting on the peak I'd sought,
and taking in the view,
I felt a king, a little while,
refreshed inside and new.
Where many men, have roamed I won't,
and where they dont, I will,
For all the treasures man has made,
I saw God's from that hill.
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Poetry: Far away
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