Orange lines of sodium
Beckon through the mist,
Lanes flowing, slowing,
Climbing up to Saddleworth.
A whispered prayer,
For a child there,
Lost upon t'moor
As living rush
In traffic roar,
By the rose
Of Lancashire.
Then down and down,
Faster, falling
As mill towns merge in
Light sea sprawling,
Till hazards flash.
All crawling.
Ten more miles,
Congestion warning,
All on mobiles,
Manchester dawning.
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