Oh, such a clumsy soul
Where will this gust of wind take me?
Across this foggy moor
Drifting off on small breezes
Past the church where they pray
Warm and cosy like sheep fleeces
The grass outside does sway
Sat on carpets of heather
While Yorkshire tea is served
Surrounded by horse and feather
The damp evening is lured
Pale moonlight arises
As the church doors are closed
Spirit in its grand disguises
I make my way in doors
ah I love your poetry
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