As we drove over the high bleak moors
I became aware that we had slowly climbed
Into the low clouds that were beginning
To haunt our journey in unusual ways
The lonely villages were almost lifeless
And a sense of grey death hung in the air
Visibility had been reduced to just fifty yards
And the roads and lanes were fading away
I wondered if I would ever live there
But knew that I would not be welcomed
As I just like many others before me
Was passing through and would be soon forgotten