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Feather's Miscellany: Haworth Moors

John Waddington-Feather muses ipon Haworth Moors, native heath of the Bronte sisters.

Such bleak, hostile moors,
Fit only for ling and ragged sheep;
Such dark walls fencing intakes
Ready to go back any time
To bracken and black bog.

There is no yielding to finesse,
No couthness from the south,
For folk here are a breed apart,
Always were: canny, spare with words and cash,
Heavy-tongued.

And yet…and yet such works were written here
Two centuries ago
That resonate still across the world.

John Waddington-Feather ©.

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