The withering winds on those cold bleak moors can cut a man in two
A damp dank fog strewn evil place respect it or you'll roo
A man could vanish in that thick grey soup if he wanders from the path
The cold and unplumbed inky depths a deep unwelcome bath
The strands of long coarse ancient Grass that claw like witches fingers
The hanging cloaking clinging mist that shrouds us as it lingers
This untamed wasteland cold and vast a godforsaken place
Theres tales of horses sheep and stags swallowed up without a trace
The swirling hanging mists of time envelop every creature
The craggy moss strewn lurking rocks an unbecoming feature
Beware the bright green velvet sphagnum welcoming and soft
This deep and rich organic mass boasts a wide expansive croft
This verdant carpet sumptuous and plush needs serious cogitation
For Beneath Lies hidden a putrid broth of rotting vegetation
An unsuspecting traveler whilst crossing the moors quite late
Could take a step on this chartreuse rug and seal their ominous fate
This abismal and fathomless quagmire welcomes each and every guest
As It draws them in and drags them down On its corrupt nefarious quest
To incorporate their blood and bones in its malodorous fetid brew
It digests each one then resumes its mask,of a carpet pulchritudinous and new
The granite stones stand round in groups their bodies grey and cold
Their weathered faces deeply scared their stories not yet told
The things they've witnessed through the years in the Mires cadaverous reign
Has made them hard and coarse and blank and impervious to pain
It's a happy hunting ground this place for the reaper they call grim
If you meet him in the swirling mist your chances would be slim
So take it slow and proceed with caution and do what you know is right
And with a bit of luck and a lot of care you may get home tonight
By LJM
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