On Stanage Edge in Derbyshire
One winter's day I stood
To view the snowy landscape
In my karrimoor with hood

The granite rocks looked black and cold
Against the icy ground
The grouse had gone to restaurants
There was no sound around

The clear blue sky was featureless
It framed the barren moor
What once was green with purple tips
Is white and quite obscure

In awe I stare at nothingness
Which really is bizarre
I'll stroll back down to the Yorkshire Bridge
And get warm by the fire