The White Farmhouse

I had left the city lights behind
Travelling far into the country
A route I'd never taken before
Parked the car and got out to walk
Bejewelled spiders lace becked every hedge
A smell of damp vegetation
In the warm, late afternoon sun
There was little bird song, only the odd one
Yet the hum of insects was everywhere
The lane curved gently. I followed it on
Till it went betwixt a farmhouse and a tree
A tall elm stood alone and aloof
Its' leaves swaying gently in the breeze
The farmhouse was white with a red tiled roof
An old wooden open barn to one side
Fat brown hens scratched in the front yard
A dozen or so cows grazed nearby
A black and white collie lay curled near the door
He opened one eye, noted me, went back to sleep
Seeming to know that I offered no threat
I just stood and drank the whole scene in
My city starved soul was born again
But tempus does fugit, as they say
To the city I had to return
Yet now as I lay in my bed, before rising
Listening to the traffice roaring past
I remember the lone tree and the white farmhouse
And it helps me get through the day.

by Marilyn Shepperson

Comments (3)

soothing imagery. fine write. -Tailor
A fine, relaxing free verse. I guess that anyone living near Heathrow would drink in a day in the country :) Best wishes. Jack PS. 'traffic'
I think we may see you on 'A place in the country' soon! Till then, keep bringing a bit back with you, like this. Danny