love letter to the Peak District
Summer Green
Finally, my olde lover, we reunite
suburbia doesn’t have the same bite that it used to
and how I’ve missed you
your wild winds that I try to grasp onto
almost twisting my aching ankles
on the rocks below in doing so
your glitteringly cold, yet sunny embrace
licks the side of my emblazoned face
and I’ll edge my cheek up to the trees
stretching for more, howling at the hanging leaves
eventually I’ll leave, the last bus leaves soon
but I’ll never leave you, or you’ll never leave me
though I’ll soon lay under another city’s tree.