The swirling, moisture canopies
That speckle blue vanilla skies,
The honeysuckle-scented breeze
That, definition, well defies,
The bashful bluebells bowing low
Along the chocolate marshy sands
Where Otley and her sisters flow
To flush these lush West Yorkshire lands.
I'll miss the Fewston Reservoirs
For more than what I've said above,
They soak my plains of memoirs
With drops of who and what I love.
(The 'vanilla' and 'chocolate' references were clearly a product of the quality ice cream we consumed on the hike :-)