Mist on Moor

A mist on the moor is magic,

   brings tales of old that are tragic;

     tales that are fresh

         tales that are new

Tales of morning, sparkling in dew.


A mist on the moor is the haunt

   of mythical men, lean and gaunt;

     men cloaked in black

         hidden daggers

Hidden flasks, drunken swaggers.


A mist on the moor brings yearning,

   a longing for something, I’m learning

     that’s just beyond grasp

         just beyond sight

Just beyond reach like a thing in the night.


A mist on the moor, when it lifts

   leaves ethereal dreams as gifts;

     skies that are blue

         inclement weather

Romantic none as a mist on heather.


Written while on tour in Scotland, 1990.

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