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POETRY
To Walk in the Shoes of a Bronte
A poem
I lift my long dress with trembling hands,
And tread the wild and barren land.
Through thrashing wind and lashing rain,
I press on, though my limbs complain.
The wind strips me of my shawl,
And chills my flesh with icy snowfall
Chapped cheeks are red and raw,
My chest is breathing rapidly
as I tread upon the mossy floor
Yet still the summit’s path I seek is not beyond my laboured reach.
The howling gale doth steal my air,
From what feels my last breath of much despair
Yet as I climb, though steps be slow,
The storm begins to reach an ending plateau
The rain doth fade to mist to light,
The winds retreat from a cruel bite
The clouds, like feathers, now swirl and rise,
As golden dawn doth stain the skies.
O’er glen and dale my gaze doth sweep,
A world awakened from its dark sleep.
And here, upon this hallowed height,
My soul is once again at one with earth and light.
By A.E.Lee
As a young girl, I lived near Howarth and walked the moors regularly. In winter they were perilous and the summer they caught the sun in a breath taking beauty, hopefully I have caught this in my poem.
I would very much like to know your thoughts.
