I wonder, did the Brontës like to run across the moors,
Pulling on their running shoes when done with all their chores?
Racing up to Wuthering Heights; back down past Wildfell Hall,
Branwell, Emily, Charlotte, Anne; Keeper, Flossy one and all.

And was there a Haworth Harriers met each Tuesday at ‘the Bull’,
A club of local characters with future inspiration full?
The Professor, Emma, Shirley, Jane, and governess Agnes Grey,
In sports gear crudely improvised; pioneering athletes of their day.

And was it whilst they chatted as they coursed the gorse and heather,
That they kindled wild imaginings about the landscape and its weather?
And breathless spoke of dreams and longings and furtive shared desires,
Rough strangers brief met on the way helping stoke romantic fires.

And sprinting, chasing, laughing, back they’d come in full high jinx,
To tell their tales to Tabby who’d be waiting with hot drinks.
And afterwards would meet again in Branwell’s favourite pub,
For a run debrief and cooldown over hearty northern grub.

And would they on a Sunday take a longer slow-paced run,
St Michael and All Angels’ brief delaying their weekend fun?
Stopping now and then to catch their breath, enjoy grand views,
Worse for wear for want of wicking and decent cushioned shoes.

Then with a final slog up Main Street and the Parsonage in sight,
Would their heads be filled with bold ideas for brand new things to write?
Though first, would there be jostling as they reached the garden path,
To be winner of a weekly prize of being the first one in the bath?

But wait, I’m now left wondering if in this fancy there’s some truth,
For would they not have charged around like any other Yorkshire youth?
I’m sure I’ve heard them called the ‘Brontë Blisters’ if you will,
And why did Kate Bush follow Wuthering Heights, with Running Up That Hill?