Rest Stop Crossing Britain

Along a bluebell-bordered lane
And through a metal gate
A meadow strewn with dandelions
Gold weeds in splendour wait
Shaded by a new-leafed tree
Quiet time to take their ease
Drowsing through the insect hum
And còoled by soft-blown breeze
A rest stop crossing Britain
On footpaths coast to coast
From Boston  through to Barmouth
And that is no mean boast.