|Simmons Mead AKA Mill Hill Village Green|
The Village Green
Sitting beneath the willow tree,
the sound of the running stream almost audible over the traffic rumble,
the sky is blue,
but the cold November wind bites my face
I've been coming to this place for years,
An oasis of calm missed by the thousands in their cars,
their eyes fixed only on the road ahead,
As I soak up the last rays of winter sun in my little village green.
Copyright 2016 - Roger M. Tichborne
(Note: I wrote this poem on Sunday, when the sky was blue!).
Every Wednesday, we feature a poem and a picture about our neighbourhood. If you have a poem and a picture you'd like to feature, just email to me using the link in the sidebar. I've written poetry for many years, for my own amusement. It was suggested that I share some of it. I hope you enjoy it, I'd love to feature anything you have written.