~
I’d left the bedroom curtains
purposely undrawn so as to frame
the majestic Ragleth come the dawn,
waking I saw a line of sheep
ambling curiously across its pathways
like a broken string of woollen beads,
the valley muffling their sporadic
grumbling complaints, that were
far too distant for me to decipher,
later I would exchange places
with them and extol the virtues of
the undulating panorama from atop
this beauteous Shropshire hill,
with their most recently returned
son and his wife, who proudly pointed
out, their new home from that
brilliant vantage point,
the forecast threat of storms,
circling patiently in the distance
like hungry wolves came to nought,
until we were safely ensconced
in the village pub with beer,
the cloudburst’s swift deluge
scattering those in the beer garden
like frit skittles,
that evening I gave my
house-warming gift, a slim
volume of A. E. Houseman’s
‘A Shropshire Lad’ that we browsed
through over claret cheese and
conversation
*
© GRS 05/24
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 