Lost aboard the roll of Kodac-

olor that was to have super-

seded all need to remember

Somerset were: a large flock



of winter-bedcover-thick-

pelted sheep up on the moor;

a stile, a church spire, 

and an excess, at Porlock,



of tenderly barbarous antique

thatch in tandem with flower-

beds, relentlessly pictur-

esque, along every sidewalk;



a millwheel; and a millbrook 

running down brown as beer.

Exempt from the disaster.

however, as either too quick



or too subtle to put on rec-

ord, were these: the flutter

of, beside the brown water,

with a butterfly-like flick



of fan-wings, a bright black-

and-yellow wagtail; at Dulver-

ton on the moor, the flavor

of the hot toasted teacake



drowning in melted butter

we had along with a bus-tour-

load of old people; the driver



's way of smothering every r

in the wool of a West Countr-

y diphthong, and as a Somer-



set man, the warmth he had for 

the high, wild, heather-

dank wold he drove us over.