Poetic Runners
Whilst running with John G, in July I think it was, from Sam’s Seat we observed the clearest view we had ever seen of the North York Moors. This scene moved John to recall Houseman’s “blue remembered hills” a poem of loss and nostalgia as in:-
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.
And continuing our poetic theme is Dawn’s written after Swaledale.
Just Do It
This is a story I would like to tell,
When living with problems just doesn’t go well.
But quite the opposite as you will see,
The recovery group is born and starts running with glee.
The heart, the hip, the back and the knees,
Are soon forgotten with friends like these.
There are two others so that’s OK,
To make this posse in our own special way.
There’s Dr B. with his recent heart op,
Shouting, “At the next hill we must not stop.”
Robin trots on with his bionic hip,
Trying not to stumble into a dip.
There’s John never knowing just what will be,
As he starts off running, he’ll just have to see.
There’s me talking “Brummie”, along with my knees.
Ursula’s back aches, as Mel’s off like a breeze.
We hobble along at a very slow pace,
Each of us knowing it isn’t a race.
What time we do just doesn’t matter,
All running together, all out for a natter.
A photo shoot here, a photo shoot there,
They appear on Facebook for all to share.
So as you can see we are a mixed bunch,
But the reward is the pub, when it’s time for lunch.
The grit and the Grrr——- will never go away
As we plan another run, for yet another day.
We go out running whatever the weather,
For “The Swaledale Marathon” which we conquered together.
Dawn Griffin – June 2015
If any other runners fells rhythmically inspired by the routes you pound and jog over then do please send me your copy!