Nobbut a beck to begin with.

The Esk escorted by daffodils

beside both banks, and a train

that escaped Beeching’s

scattergun. Skirts

the moorland’s northern edge,

past lambs and fields

festooned with pheasants.

Scurries over boulders,

relaxes and widens

as we approach the sea,

is celebrated by a magnificent,

redundant viaduct,

a memorial to the line

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