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“Aint’ no need to go to church though; just take a walk”.

Each path along the back of the Jurassic beast is worn down
by chalky pilgrims.

Each low-lying lull of limestone a place to stop and talk.
These sheep have heard more prayers than men of less wooly cloth,
The most gratefully received holy waters are by thirsty dog

from rusty trough.

I thought of the ammonite-bound hallowed ground below me.
Of the roots and the boots,

And trod a li le so er.
“Where are you going wise traveller?” I asked. I joked.

“The pub”, he said.
And he went.

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