Langby Moor Poem by Howard Pipe

A buzzard rides the thermals
above the winding beck,
where the old stones hide away
and weary travellers trek.
Swathes of windswept heather
bind the peat rich ground,
red grouse settle undisturbed
and spring a warning sound.

Gorse blooms splash a blaze of yellow,
hardy rowan at their side,
woody outcrops where the sheep graze
shade the adders as they hide.
Waters slither to the meadows
down a stone filled mossy ghyll,
in a narrow forest clearing
feeding deer are standing still.

Pasture land and scattered buildings
as the incline eases down,
a row of whitewashed gable ends
opens up a market town.
In the shadow of the skyline
where the noble raptors soar,
this old high street makes a living
in the lee of Langby Moor.