I know these places,

the half ruined wall,

the shattered tree,

the coarse gorse and bramble.

I’ve been here alone.

Here together.

Clitter underfoot,

soft grasses, harsh stone.

In the lee of the rocks,

which sheltered me often.

The driving rain,

ethereal mist,

in the rising sun,

all have their part.

Memories are here,

they remain.

The insistence of memory holds me.

To be here again,

to never have left,

to remain, permanent as the tor.

One day

I will pass this way.

Never to leave.