Across the Pennine backbone, you wend your stony way,
Twisting in and over, and through valley, village and dale.
From Cumbria down to Yorkshire, drilled into lakeside hills,
Beauty either side of you, carved by rural stills.
Souls shed their mortal coils upon your deadly route,
Never heeding the warning, their feeble cries stand mute.
Your menace in your silence, your patience ever alert.
Ready for your next victim, never shying to inflict hurt.
Safe from you’re ready stings in the heart of Holmedale,
From my window, I see your industry and witness another tale.
Your dignity is in your presence, set among the English lanes,
But some day soon this deadly beast, the A66 will be tamed.
John R. Bacon