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