its a long walk to dorset

Its a long walk back to Dorset
past the good ole hampshire trails
through the devon countryside
down the somerset divide

The winding tracks of heather
the wispy trails of grass
the haystacks and the meadows
the swallows
which fly past

The landscapes of the artists
etched out in hazy morning sun
in early morning sunrise
of a journey just begun

Around little thatched roofed cottages
wild roses
twisted thorns
sweet apples kissed in scarlet
nectar of the bee
cider apple scrumpy
rugged stoned rocky cliffs
around the sea

The castle on the hillside
oer purbecks twisted dales
the sweetest scents of heather
that ever man did smell
the green lanscape life
of swanages greatest tales
the highest points
whilst walking
oer rugged purbecks views
and the whisper
of the talking winds
that always follows you

The inn where coach and horses
are all restsfull in the sun
below the tall wide great oak tree
where once the smugglers ran
its the talk of the local yeomen
farmers one and all
arrayed in finest clothing
like lords out of the past
all gathered around
with all manner
of courtesises and flasks
wathching others a dancing
in morris men regale
breathing in the aromatic fragrance
of heathers first dawns smell

Its a long walk back to Durzet you
An i mus be on my way
back to my homelands tracks and trails
through the commons heathered bound
with treasures stored in heaven
and love in Durzet found.

WAREHAM ON A SUNDAY

The lady st mary church bells do chime
early morn
tis half past nine
to honour him
with bread and wine
in Wareham on a sunday

alongside the river runs and winds
to redcliffes ridge
with rushes tall
and swans regale
the winding narrow footpath
it turns and twists along
alongside stoboroughs fields and meadow mists
here where tis said
the first cuckoo is let out in may
herald the spring
with hares a leaping in the hay
whilst local zunners run and play

Where young rabbits do skip amongst the lambs
high up on grassy slopes
of the ridge highway
whilst grokel tourists sleep on
sound in their modern caravans
and the farmer samways eats his egg and bacon
this is wareham
on a sunday.

WAREHAM ON MARKET DAY

Come to warehams market place
on a sunny summer thursday afternoon
hear the jokes and banter of hawkers
selling their wares plus sheets and spoons
watch the auction of cattle
in the concreted floor space
within the high iron bars surround there
an auctioneering sports a white coat
sitting on a three legged chair

In a galvanised shed with little room to move
little rabbits hang
grey and gutted
so uncouth
tied so tight on string in line
whilst flies aplenty seek refuge in their sad eyes.

Tiny bantam cockeral
run free
pecking at the corn
treading hens on wings
who look forelorn
All a running through the very many
scattered stalls
where rabbits hutches lie nigh
and caged songbirds are so pensing
though their song delights
the crowds of peopole sauntering
an goldfinch songbirds sing out
their trill to their offspring

The old town hall clock in the square
chimes out the hour
on a sunny afternoon.
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