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Tuesday, 25 August 2020

A Walk in the Country


A Walk in the Country

Peter Woodgate

Like a painter with his canvas I viewed the morning scene, 
Clouds were drifting overhead The dark hills could be seen 
And in the fields the clover was a haven for the bees,
The rhythm of their crazy flight Quickened by the breeze. 

Meadow grass and thistles Swayed gently to and fro,
A swallow dipped and swerved in flight Keen to join the show.
A rabbit, in the early light was cropping sweet damp grass
And a pheasant, with ungainly step, In front of me, did pass.

The brushstrokes of my inner eye Sketched tranquil harmony
And foxgloves, by the garden gate we’re full in bloom for me.
But something strange and sinister Stood there before my eyes,
Rubbish, heaped, to curtail the joy And rob me of my prize.

Fly-Tipping


Copyright Peter Woodgate


5 comments:

  1. Ah! Too often we come across land blighted by fly-tippers. Very well displayed in your well written piece Peter...

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  2. I renamed it Peter, because the original title kinda stole your thunder...

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  3. A lovely poem until the end! Myself, I would dearly love to be able to gather up all the ugly rubbish and dump it in the litterers (is there such a word) lounge. To me, they are total scum.

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    Replies
    1. Just enjoying the bees buzzing,the swallows dipping and the bunny nibbling the sweet damp grass...and boom..I am brought back to reality.Sad but true. Good poem.

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