My Love Of The Countryside by John Bowler

View from Clee Hill
in memory of John who died a year ago yesterday

Once, on holiday, I took a country walk

I was on my own, silent, no talk.

T’was a drowsy, summer Sunday afternoon, I had nothing particular to do,

I wandered into familiar surroundings and leant on a farm gate to admire the view.

A W.H. Davies poem inspired me to stand and stare,

To drink in the silence and breathe the clear country air.

Stretched before me like a painting by Constable,

I saw fields, hedgerows and trees, as far as the eye was able.

Distant hills, an atmospheric greyish hue,

Drifting clouds, pristine white, underneath a canopy of ultramarine blue,

Nature’s gift to cherish and enjoy.

This I remember when I was a boy.

Suddenly, from over the wall,

My reverie was broken. “Tea’s ready,” was my Aunt’s shrill call.