I couldn’t believe the length of the grass
for it was high enough to reach my waist
the sign was a warning I could not pass
and turning in anger my steps retraced
and though I’m not known to be a moaner
was determined to tell the new landowner
that through this so-called private land
an unmarked ancient way still ran
so anyone walking up to the moor
this sign should continue to ignore.
Filed under Self compositions
Brett Kristian
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Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
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I love this. And I do insist on my rights of way which farmers often try to deny us. But in this instance there could be a safety reason involved. Fens are, by nature, fenny places, and one wrong step can be your death. Even so, I grind my teeth at being told no
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