A Walk To Kedleston
Take watercolour peach, lavender blue
a canvas morning sky, the clouds a frame,
gilt treetops harvest fire, leaves brightly hued
awakened now the arbor tips became.
Lone footprints in the dew on virgin track
save leaping of a brook or crossing stile,
the journey was for now, no looking back
just savouring a moment for a while.
Beyond the Churchyard, entering the glade
across the tired bridge with rusty nails,
stream cuts its way through earth, a gentle blade,
carved notches from my youth upon the rails.
From here onward the footpath comes and goes
it hides and peeks just like a timid child,
in stretches bare, the place each walker knows
and where a hedge gives choice it blossoms, wild.
Now finally the sunrise takes a hold
and burns away the morning's misty glaze
the speckled droplets revel in their gold
on bark and branches clothed in mossy baize.
Adam's masterpiece comes into view
Palladian and clad in smooth dressed stone
beyond, the bridge where Cutler Brook runs through
where ends this walk since childhood I have known.
Switch on the phone and head for home again
thus ends these precious hours of feeling sane.
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