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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

Copyright © harry horsman

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