seen from the moor
...
the candles of the chestnut tree
light the mass for daffodils
now more akin to a dodo
beak sucks in what used to be a flower
to a crowning crisp
resembling what left left in the pan
when frying broken eggs
....
when last I sat here the sky was azure blue
but now it swirls as if a watercolourist
grew tired of painting sky and cleaned her brush
passing lazy sunlight shafts the greening hills
and now one clearly sees the flocked sheep of lambing
gazing in fields around the slowly dressing trees
the grandeur of the khaki stone manor stands proud
no longer matching it's surround
as the moorland of higher slopes
mellows into tones of gold and yellow
those dressing trees block the view to the lower town
in mostly green of palish hue - some almost pale to white -
and others of a copper burnish shimmer in the light
if one follows the gaz'd path to the neat cricket ground
passing through the avenue of chimneys and sprouting branch
three plump cherry trees still hold their pink blossom
while up the valley to the dog-leg turning of the dales
a misty hush hangs like gauze
obscuring all but the blackened line of walls
and the softly dotted trees - clustered into copses
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