Mam Tor In Snow Poem by Martin Ward

I awoke
to find
that winter
had called:
rekindling in me
the child that ever
shall remain.
I raced
to meet her
once again.

Mother wears
a white blanket
of fresh finery
to keep her cold.
Shivering less
than in her
multi-verdant
summer gown.

Cautiously,
I try not to join
the children
down below.

Ageing and birthing
many offspring
has worn her down.
Mother Hill;
Shivering Mountain,
mocked by
Kinder Scout;
its head held high.

Yet in her womb,
beneath the shifting shale,
such precious treasures
hidden in her depths.

No interlopers today,
just hardy locals
come to pay homage;
respectfully holding on
to her petticoat.