Shropshire and Beyond
Far from the army, prior priority of Titterstone Clee,
The blasting free from the mountainside of road-stone flint
Chippings by trinitrotoluene, T.N.T., changing the sunset from blue
to blood red. Then all the way to Cleobury Mortimer, the demilune
of façade and bed. In the morning, Betws–y-Coed, bound via
Clun Forest, Fforest Fawr, following the cloud of flintstone dust
And wind whereon bourne aloft
O’er Wenlock Edge on the way to Merioneth.
A vagabond now, not a soldier me, borne more free, by motor
Bike. Which is what I like. The mountain scenery greater in
Magnitude than my Cotteswold home. But the sheep still play
Among a similar fold. I cannot seem to get away.
But the booming of the London bombs I have not. Only the revving
Of my six-fifty c.c. Triumph Twin to revel in.
And nearing the end of my journey, Brecon Beacons come into
View. My venue in Oxford is on the way, too. For adult, ancient pastures new.