The Edge of Exmoor
By Leigh Crisp
I sleep amongst the lichen on stunted ancient oak,
and drift with the thistledown above fern and heather
amid the summer’s hazy overgrowth.
A hardy place, where silver birch sway
their merry winters dance and snowdrops light an
enchanted path through dark hidden valleys.
You will find me where the wild winds blow,
across rain swept moorlands and where
only the purest of waters flow.