From the brow
Of the wooded escarpment
Eyes are drawn
To the picture
In a vista’s reach
Into mists and the rolling plain.
And then a near rose
Beckons come close
To the petal’s crenellations
And breathes as sweetly
As the lover’s kiss,
Competes with all the faded distance
And offers the planted bed
Afire with flowers
And boughs drooping
Under the weight.
And then again the call
From between scots pine:
The wood
Creeping down the vale,
Hauling the mind away
To thoughts afar and blurring.
Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016
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A lovely poem for a lovely picture!
Thanks Pam,
Have you been there?
No, but I will search it out.
It’s right next door to hidcote
Thanks for this Ben
I love the word you use there – crenellations. I always use it with my wife when we put mayonnaise on lettuce. We laugh as it fills the crenellations. Small pleasures. 🙂
Kindness – Robert (York, England).
Ha ha, thanks Robert. I will now do the very same, when I eat my lettuce. Ben
Sure thing, Ben, although how I’m going to break it to the wife that she’s moving to … where do you live again? 🙂
Ha ha, in the crenellations of Oxford! 😆