Time For a Vacation

TIME FOR A VACATION It is my wife’s lifelong dream, a fairytale place a magic land : The small village of Rye in Sussex , in southern England. This is the heart of England, its bosom - Filled with peaceful smells of blossom : Like a Dickens scene on christmas cards - Steep streets with cobblestones - no cars. Smoking chimneys, bow windows, roofs with thatches, Hanging baskets of alyssum and lobelia in batches - Her favorite colours white and dark blue: I wanted to make her dream come true. Tea and hot crumpets and warm butter oozing By the fire in the sitting room with grandad snoozing At four o’ clock by the chimes of the grandfather Clock which fascinates - it’s like theatre to her. Soft beds you sink into deeper and deeper; Little bedrooms with floral wallpaper She’s only seen in movies about Sherlock Holmes; And small windows recalling our childhood homes. We feel at ease, content like birds flown home to their loft. View to cherry orchard trees in blossom soft And to France on the distant sea horizon: She gazes and thinks and daydreams on and on.