Six Hills Lane

Spring's low setting sun, sinks into an impenetrable opaque haze

In a trice the road, that was directly ahead, enters another phase

Xanthic smog hoodwinks the unwary, as if it's smoke and mirrors

Hiding a sham diversion, to where only the phantoms are figures

Itinerants who passed this way, were led astray on Six Hills Lane

Leaving naught behind, but their recycled time, in a circling chain

Lost forever, those who perished, upon the salt-way to the Fosse

Still try in vain, to journey to the other-side, but they cannot cross

Left to drift, they're forever alone on a Roman road, in a fires pall

As they relive to die again, without a prescient reference to recall

Now they're the nebulous spectres cast away, like a trail's vapour

Eternally trying to reach the wolds, on the far side of Twenty Acre

 

Woodlands Way

Waning daylight fast fades to grey, upon this windswept moor

Obscuring what lies ahead, through a pine forest, below a tor

Ominous thoughts may be alert and even find time to ponder

Dusk is settling though and the path leads beyond, to yonder

Lichen's sprawled from tripping roots, to embracing branches

As a lost soul wanders in spent needles, falling in avalanches

Nothing's alive in the rotting petrified wood, of crystallized sap

Death only lingers here, as it always does, in an illusion's trap

Someone's ensnared and they'll not escape, it's insanity's toil

Within this dark domain they'll desiccate, as they feed the soil

And for anyone lost on the other-side, beware the fading grey

Yet if they choose the path ahead, it's just the woodlands way