Buckden

“Daisy Hill” a garden to please distant, yet ever near in splendid hue. Yet here now the chill of winter’s wrath, which initiates spirited breath. Tenderness upon the bypass where, memory does walk through days gone by. “Manor Garth” place of sorcery speculator, astute evil and wry. Industry without face without grace, a mechanical tragedy here. A shop floor for humanity searching, if only to plead sanity. Amber leaves rattle the naked highway, like windswept flocks from mountains high. Dry stone walls history riddled shout, along country roads and velvet sky. “Cuckoo Nest” guardian of the moorside, stone walls devoid living blood wilt. Millstones prise out a condolence yet, parched with canopy in “Nab wood” Built. Rock’n’Roll ricochets upon “Chelker” A mind in tune harmony wise. Bicycle breaks the silence of night, before rolling clouds will the sunrise. © Harry J Horsman 2022