I know this place
Nearby is where I spent my formative years
I spot the base of Emley Moor Television mast
The remainder is shrouded in cloud, and mist
I remember the old mast
The winter of it being brought to ground
Due to the unbearable weight of ice, and snow
Those days, on the cusp of puberty
With girls just becoming a fascination
A few years though
Before my first broken heart
That is, a heart broken, by a girl
Not by my parents, or by my so called friends
Or by my Penistone Grammar school teachers
I left this place
But, like a bad penny, returned several times
Mostly in search of solace, or shelter
After further experiences
Of break-ups, and heartbreaks
Or after split-ups; moving-on proclamations
I am here today as a result of one such
Here today to go to an art gallery
Twenty five or more miles away
Salts Mill; the home of one David Hockney
Another Yorkshireman, yet such a soul
Who travelled way further than I did
And who picked up, quite rightly
Many more plaudits along the way
