A double duvet of a fog

(15 to 20 togs weight)

settles over the Vale of York.

From Helmsley to Halifax

the land is enveloped,

swaddled, swathed and stifled

gagged and muffled.

Even the rooks

above the Hag at Oswaldkirk

can't find a flight path

and perch in the pines

baffled and perplexed

flummoxed and fog-bound.

So is it any wonder

some of us feel the same?

Now in Blackpool

(where I was reared)

fog and mists are unknown

The Westerlies

rattle the window panes,

trumpet round the chimney pots,

send roof tiles, hat and brollies,

sailing into cyber-space:

and all the time the great sea

launders the sand

and pounds the prom

and everything is

clean and fresh and bracing.

And that is why

Lancashire folk

(by common consent)

are all bright-eyed

and bushy-tailed

fresh-faced, blithe and buoyant.

Submitted by Frank S Rickards

Oswaldkirk

Updated: 12:27 Thursday, March 21, 2002