Exmoor
Lost aboard the roll of Kodac–
olor that was to have super–
seded all need to remember
Somerset were: a large flock
of winter-bedcover—thick—
pelted sheep up on the moor;
a stile, a church spire,
and an excess, at Porlock,
of tenderly barbarous antique
thatch in tandem with flower–
beds, relentlessly pictur–
esque, along every sidewalk;
a millwheel; and a millbrook
running down brown as beer.
Exempt from the disaster.
however, as either too quick
or too subtle to put on rec–
ord, were these: the flutter
of, beside the brown water,
with a butterfly-like flick
of fan—wings, a bright black—
and—yellow wagtail; at Dulver—
ton on the moor, the flavor
of the hot toasted teacake
drowning in melted butter
we had along with a bus—tour—
load of old people; the driver
‘s way of smothering every r
in the wool of a West Countr–
y diphthong, and as a Somer–
set man, the warmth he had for
the high, wild, heather–
dank wold he drove us over.
