Michael Newman of Bishops Cleeve, Cheltenham, writes about the feeling of returning to the Cotswolds in his poem ‘Homecoming’
I thrill to my wolds again,
To the winch and the tumble
Of the valleys,
To the crooked willows
Delineating water course,
And the kestrel hovering
On puppet strings,
Ready to plop.
I thrill to my wolds again,
To the raven’s querulous pitch,
To the storms backing up
Over Birdlip,
And the gather of cranesbill skirts
Along single-track lanes.
I weep for my wolds again,
For the Ancient Woodlands
Rooted out,
For the art of the stonewaller
Laid to moss,
For the beauty spot
Now walled-in and claimed
By Des Res,
Suitably unaffordable.
Each man finds his own poison,
And grows immune.
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‘Homecoming’ by Michael Newman