water tastes of…


this water tastes of
barren, bleak moorland
of sheep sheltering from
hail, rain, snow and sleet,
of the footsteps of the
Brontes their words pouring
down cloughs into rivers
and streams creating
puddles of books that
glisten in the rain.
this water tastes of
farmers wellingtons
smelling of cows
of hikers boots
telling tales of
hill and dale
the flimsy shoes of
fellrunners feet wet
through from the marshes.
this water tastes of
sweat, pain and tears
from those who have
traversed these moors
long ago selling cloth
to traders and merchants.
this water tastes of life,
the lives of everyone
and everything that has
crossed over the paths
and heather that cover
this moors. this water
is the life blood of the
moors feeding its soul
and spirit and allowing
life to flourish and survive

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