From Brogborough Hill

Loud pants the traffic on the hill Clogging the veined A421, Tenacious as cholesterol; Slow climbs the throbbing sun. Muffled the scream of wind through hedge Cradling a diesel-ribboned road In arms of hawthorn, spawning green, Easing a landscape's load. Sharp flies the teazles' silhouette Against a tarmacadammed eye, The tinsel of the rubbered verge Netting a breathless sky.

Soft falls the touch of light to land, The healing prism palmed to bind The chronic sores of pit and tip Into the lap of time. Wild bloom the chimneys of The Vale From fields of clay; and where beyond Sky folds to earth in tired response, The sheds of Cardington. All history for the eye to view, But where the sight grows rare, Young roots dive deep, raw saplings stir, Future thickens the air Ruth Sayers