And when I leave this place
as I surely will
I'll know your spirit is at peace
amongst the heather and the gills
and moorland seasons
with it changeling face.

For you loved it so
no matter how cold or dark or dismal
the deepest holes of winter sank
were never truly dark for you
You loved the worst and you loved the best
believed that angels sang
in voices only some can hear
upon the moor bleak, bitter
or blessed
by the rare fleeting warmth of summer sun

But whatever the day
whatever the season
whether storm or mist or hung dark with cloud
You are every day within the heart of Bransdale
For there was where
your peace was found

And now from far across the sea
I hear an angel sing
from the living breast
of your beloved moor

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