“Grasmere looked so beautiful that my heart was almost melted away.” (Dorothy Wordsworth, The Grasmere Journals)
To Grasmere Then, Part II
Although the train
blurs scenery,
it is too slow
for this rash soul.
The industry of Manchester
makes way for field and climb,
sheep browsing wherever
the eye turns,
landscape trading
drab for delight.
Winding the thin
curves by bus,
we steam windows
with lakeside visions,
nature’s wardrobe
flirting sun and shade,
glittered suggestions
that devour thought,
inching the strange
yet familiar geography.
Surrounded by great
hills, we take to foot,
threading honeysuckle,
chattering scobby,
moss-bathed rock
to that source,
that haunt
that remembered hunger.
—
Allison Thorpe feels that England is her spiritual home. She is the author of one book of poetry and one chapbook. Her work has appeared in a variety of journals and anthologies, some of which include Wind, Poem, Juggler’s World, Damaged Wine, Dead Flowers, Connecticut River Review, The Milo Review, Cold Mountain Review, ELF, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Pegasus, and Red Mountain Rendezvous.
Outside In Literary & Travel Magazine 