The Village in the Sun
A silent road flanks warping semis aging gracefully,
Dispersed between newly detached homes,
The ribbon of crumbling tarmac guarded by concrete,
Winds unevenly beside the garden gnomes,
This rough undulating river dotted with wheelie bins,
With rectangular islands of the long cut grass,
Banks of neatly trimmed hedges with leftover bunting,
Celebrating the end of what came to pass.
Many windows going past me watching the neighbours,
Looking through the kaleidoscope of rainbows,
Joining the population together under one single cause,
Unlocking their doors as the confidence grows.
The island of tall trees resting between fallen branches,
A sight of rejuvenation in our uncertain times,
This copse of firs have watched generations come by,
Looking across the village from their lofty climbs.
Cheery greetings passing by me from a safe distance,
Waves from friendly families on the daily exercise,
Smiles from hurried dog walkers holding on so tightly,
Four legs pulling them are joined to excited eyes.
Glimpses of green fields between the thatched rooves,
The crops reaching up from the parched soil,
Irrigation set to maximum making their own rainbows,
As the early summer sun makes clouds boil.
The quiet village pub t total for these hard times,
But still alive with a prism of hanging flowers,
Swarms of insects filling up with this amber nectar,
Fuelling their flights for several more hours.
Walking down the patchwork of many resurfaces,
Past the deadly silent empty primary school,
Gates padlocked between the bricks in the walls,
Just waiting for government to change the rule.
The monolithic church meets with me on my walk,
Built on a hill with tons of ancient grey stone,
A barrier of holly and ivy to keep the faithful safe,
It reminds the population they aren’t alone.
My sunny village walk is now giving way to parkland,
And a narrow path on the edge of a wild field,
An unobstructed view of the sunshine filled horizon,
A sight for everyone if you keep your eyes peeled.
Part Dalek 