This poem is rather dark and morbid for a Sunday morning, but I have been thinking about it for a long time. I was reminded of it by a recent article I read about Saddleworth Moor and recalled the impact the moors murderers, Brady and Hindley, had on me as a child – the personification of bogeymen and monsters.
Dark Pennine peaks
Hold their secrets close
Refuse to surrender the burial place
Of a lost child on the moor
A long way from my home
It chilled me to the bone
A different kind of famous five
Bad dreams in sixties black and white
The details were kept quiet
Hidden from my innocent eyes
Behind sensational headlines
And hushed voices on the BBC
Sadistic killers of the utmost depravity
Strolling hand in hand
On the windy knolls
Of Saddleworth Moor
© Kim M. Russell, 2016
Image found on www.dailymail.co.uk
writing in north norfolk 
Morbid yes, but you remember these little lost lives, as do I, today.
LikeLiked by 1 person