Along the lane
towards Diddling
you stopped
and looked
at the church
on the horizon
between
the hedgerows
beneath
the blue
and white
clouded sky
Jane
stood next to you
her hand
holding yours
the softness
of her skin
against yours
her dark hair
tied
by a green ribbon
one of my favourite sights
she said
the church
becoming
more visible
the closer you get
her voice disturbed
birdsong
from the hedgerows
a blue ***
took flight
the flutter
of small wings
we never had hedgerows
in London
you said
no blue *** birds
no wide fields
or Downs
just streets
and houses
and pavement
and grass
around our flats
where pigeons
or sparrows
settled
for thrown out
bread
from windows above
Jane gazed at you
her dark eyes
focusing
I’d hate that
she said
I love my countryside
and fields
and birds
and open sky
she sniffed
the air
and you walked on
along the lane
she pointed out
wildflowers
and hedgerow plants
and talked
of the farmhand
who died
when his tractor
turned over
in a field
and the first time
she remembered
visiting
the small church
and her father
holding her high
above his head
so she could see
the expanse
of the Downs
and you listened
to her words
the language
holding you
and drawing you in
her lips opening
and closing
her summer dress
moving
as she walked
her sandaled feet
treading the lane
you wanted
to captured it all
to recall it
years later
all over
again.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 9:31 AM UTC
Along the lane
towards Diddling
you stopped
and looked
at the church
on the horizon
between
the hedgerows
beneath
the blue
and white
clouded sky
Jane
stood next to you
her hand
holding yours
the softness
of her skin
against yours
her dark hair
tied
by a green ribbon
one of my favourite sights
she said
the church
becoming
more visible
the closer you get
her voice disturbed
birdsong
from the hedgerows
a blue ***
took flight
the flutter
of small wings
we never had hedgerows
in London
you said
no blue *** birds
no wide fields
or Downs
just streets
and houses
and pavement
and grass
around our flats
where pigeons
or sparrows
settled
for thrown out
bread
from windows above
Jane gazed at you
her dark eyes
focusing
I’d hate that
she said
I love my countryside
and fields
and birds
and open sky
she sniffed
the air
and you walked on
along the lane
she pointed out
wildflowers
and hedgerow plants
and talked
of the farmhand
who died
when his tractor
turned over
in a field
and the first time
she remembered
visiting
the small church
and her father
holding her high
above his head
so she could see
the expanse
of the Downs
and you listened
to her words
the language
holding you
and drawing you in
her lips opening
and closing
her summer dress
moving
as she walked
her sandaled feet
treading the lane
you wanted
to captured it all
to recall it
years later
all over
again.
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