HONEY AND WHEAT

A honey-coloured cottage with a roof made of red tiles,
The door is painted yellow, it gives passers-by welcome smiles.
The path is old and worn out, its character complete,
A field across the road is where the farmer grows his wheat.

The cars they drive past slowly, to enjoy the view,
And the horses come to speak to me as horses often do.
The clouds touch the landscape at the edge of the scene,
And when it’s good and hot the air smells lush and verdant green.

Foxes dart through the meadow, hungry after sleep,
Eyes peep out between the stems, stealthily they creep.
The birds fly high above, prior to their swoop,
Before they come together in a murmuration group.

Sunset touches landscape as she grows heavy, cool, and tired,
As light leaves the vista, it is time to be inspired.
The cockerel crows it’s late, and he struts and scrapes his feet,
To see a sight as grand as this, I’m so happy on my street.

The moon he shines his silver rays and the meadow is an ocean,
The crop is captured in the wind stirring with emotion.
Brittle light picks out black fur and illuminates white stripe,
A badger becomes frisky and he shrieks a playful gripe.