away from the town

a short walk away

nothing to hear

but the hum of the bees

deep in the foxgloves

bending their stems

exploring their throats

close by the reeds

nothing to hear

but ripples

soft lapping

and the splash of a ducks wing

taking a dive

nothing to hear but the warbling note

of the bright eyed blackbird

stalking the worms

and sometimes a cuckoo

hid in the trees

nothing to see

but the dazzling gleam

of sunlight on water

blinding your eyes

and the bright flamed robin

where he stands in his rags

and the white glare of light

that falls on the swans back

as he glides, slow, serene,

from the deep shade of willows

and the light that flutters and winks

with the breeze

through the trembling leaves

nothing to see but green rolling hills

vanish to distance

a shimmering haze

it’s hot today on the banks of the Avon

it’s one of those lazy Warwickshire days

 

 

 

Footnote

Robin in Rags = Ragged Robin, a wild flower