ramblings and things

1,226,029 poems read

Brontẽ Country, July 2013

In Brontẽ Country, Sunday Morning,
A hot but wet and windy summer's day,
Along winding roads through the moors
SatNav technology showing us the way,
The new easing access to the old.
Up the hill to the car park and then
On shank's pony through fields
Onwards and upwards again.

Past the old churchyard, its Monuments
Rearing like so many discoloured teeth,
Broken, aslant, disfigured but each
Loyally marking its grave beneath.
Brightly clothed people wander
Some In groups, some  alone,
Considering death whilst walking
Between those standing stones.

The Parsonage, restored, renewed,
Reflecting quietly, with restrained taste
That period when three sisters,
Haworth Parsonage based,
Shook the literary world with
Characters and tales that live on
Long after their so brief flowering,
And then those sister's were gone.

There is a sense of peace and awe
Moving quietly through those rooms
Where those sisters grew
And their talents bloomed.
We leave, affected, thoughtful,
To the car park where, SatNav on
We set off back to City life but in mind
The peace of Howarth lingers on.

Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Brontẽ Country, July 2013