its only inhabitants the Fell ponies, shaggy manes, long unkept tales, warm oily coats
they move with the cloud and as varied colours, huddling, frisking, fighting, mating, feeding
only the sky sees their wandering lives and the odd walker with a spare apple
ancient war horse of the Britons now indentured and counted by dim controlling bureaucracy
too busy conserving wild plants, the ponies are invisible on PC's no prizes for saving wilder things
a majesty of existence strangled, modern things have tags and numbers
can we not leave some parts uncounted?