AN ENGLISH VALLEY THROUGH DISTANT EYES

An English valley through distant eyes.

From verdant plumes, the spires arise.

The lowing cow and cuckoo call,

As dawn declares with warmth for all.

Amid the shimmering emerald lime,

A squirrel stops, an old bell chimes.

Ears twitch, a tail twirls;

Then down among gnarling curls.

Deep-rooted sentries on parade,

Guard their secrets in dappled shade.

Through mist there growls a poisoned sound:

Coughing veins on asphalt ground.

Insipid growth as autumn weeps

Its falling leaves on kiln-baked peaks.

Invasive blooms in furrowed fields,

Replace the slain of winter’s yield.

Make room, make room, oh sentinel!

The haunting loss of cuckoo’s call.

An English valley through distant eyes.

Those verdant plumes that disguise.

©Nathaniel M Wrey 2023