Marsden Lullaby

Let time drift you slowly down lanes of life
There are children’s cries in the wind over the moorland
But you, my dear, are warm in the valley of sleep.

Those who cut their own way sharply die by the knife.
In the valley that planes go over night lies safe
But you, my dear, have words to weep.

Peat softly smothers years of strife.
On the cold moorland their bones are our treasure
But you, my dear, are warm in the valley of sleep.



March Hill Excavation, the Pennines, 05.09.93