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Click hereThe style across the road gives on the moors.
I often watch them climb it, from my chair,
The backpack walkers, drawn in by the lures
Of space and distance that are waiting there –
A stubborn landscape, even when it’s fair,
Magnificent when cloudy or when rain
Obscures the heights, infertile, stony, bare:
A rugged beauty only fools disdain.
I see them go, a sweet and bitter pain;
No longer strong, I cannot follow, bound
To this old house by gout, that like a chain
Will keep me firmly down: I’ve run aground…
Yet they bring back those perfect days I’d stalk
These selfsame moors they’re now about to walk.
rhymes are pretty good 5ed
but i see no reason to start liking them here
I read about 1,000 english and american, liked about five
and knowing it will never be again, TK U MLJ LV NV
Age and illness seem to take away much from us...and yet, if they remain, our memories can help us keep that vigorous youth forever. I love the complicated power of this poem!