Botton Cross, the broken waymark of High
Danby Moor, led us, that Lent, steeply down.
A pathway took us where the gravestones lie,
which tell of years lived there, lived, spent and gone
into a Community’s recollection.
A passing tall thin man asked who I was:
I told him I was Neil from the next dale.
He said he lived in Stormy Hall because
they were his friends and how he gave out mail.
He then walked on so sure of his direction.
That was years ago – now its Lent again:
each Festival passed as it were the last,
heading towards another Spring death’s pain.
The Cross, still broken and the way as lost
as that black time before the Resurrection.
Neil Davidson, 2015