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