Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

A Deserted Village


An Architect would no doubt weep

at the maze of tumbled rock found

sad, lonely, lost beneath the sweep

of beaten bracken paths. Summer


brings bright silence with each new dawn.

The shadow of Hound Tor retreats

revealing a hamlet, not mourned,

resting in natures verdant shroud.


Man forgotten, sheep and goats graze,

skylarks spar with zephyrs over

wild flowers, wild herbs, wildlife. A place

of plague, abandoned, lost in thyme.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: