On a lone dark moor, the sun dies
Its fading light kisses the heather
And its dying beams blind my eyes.
The cold beat of my cold heart.
the only audible sound
the harsh wind blows, my hand shields
the icy blast of the wind's wrath
the moor lies silent as I stroll
grey furred masses hopping with no aim
As my clothing is caught, and theft attempted, by the wind, my voice echoes through the moor.
What hidden secrets does it contain?