I sent an electronic Yuletide card to all the nice people I know. Well, all right, I may have missed out a few through incompetence. But it's the thought that counts. And Kay Fletcher, writer and artist, sent me a nice poem! Well, actually a spooky poem, but that's the point.
Vampires on the Moor
Scripted at this point surely
when the grouse explodes from the heather
the tall shadow of the standing stone
flicks from its dark cuff creeping fingers.
My spectacles pebbled with tiny
fish eye lenses I say ‘we’re lost,’
as on the flimsiest of walks leaflets
fangs of rain bite down.