Image by Neil Morrell from Pixabay
Again, in Dreams A black hood slipped over my head I was pushed gently forward Each step slow over cobbles, my feet slipping The sound changed Walls shot up either side of me My thinking as muffled as my breath The smell of damp mould an assault to my senses I can hear the dark wet walls breathing, whispering insanities Names waiting to be snatched from the air I was pushed on, falling My feet found no purchase Hands held my arms until I felt them drop away I was suspended for a while The hood removed I stood on the hallowed ground of the Tor The waters stopped their whispering I would walk this land again, in dreams… ©AnitaDawes2022
A wonderful poem for a very special place.
One of these days we will go back to Glastonbury and climb the hill to the Tor…
Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie 