Clanfield Dawn

 

From cosy bed he slips away

Into the rosy dawn

That sifts through trees

Just stirred by breeze

Before a summer morn

His footsteps lead

Past postal signs

Along a Cotswold wall

Towards the lane

That winds to church

Amid the pheasant's call

The portal locked precedes the path

That circumscribes the bounds

And on he strides

Cross bridge and stile

Like newsboys on their rounds

In dew-soaked meadow horses stand

And fearless rabbits graze

Among the practice fences strewn

Beneath the mansion's gaze

He circles back past slumb’ring pub

And willow-bordered stream

And in the homes of golden stone

The Sunday folk still dream.