Returning from Buxton
You set me down in the lane, not far,
just half-a-mile from the five-barred gate,
so weary from the tourist trail round
the pump room and pavilion gardens.
I stand entranced by the buttercup fields,
fat lambs tugging at their wary mothers,
and the slope pushing up to dense woods,
mystical and shadowed in bluish haze.
You know I need this solitude –
to admire the pair of sleek swallows
refining their high wire act and hear
pheasants rasp from fragrant hedgerows.
Tempting to linger; but there you are
at the door waiting, and the path back
threads between high, hay-scented meadows.
Nearby, cars grumble over cattle grids.
© Sue Burley Rev. April 2015
(Published in Summer 2015 ed of "The Dawntreader"
and "Old Malden News," June 2017.)