Between hanging branches,
Patched into a green glade
Of beech, ash and elder,
I strayed in the cool shade.
A shimmer of midges
Flashed, fluttering in free-flight,
Sprites sparkling in silver,
Mist-mirrors of sunlight.
I, musing, meandered
Alone with my headphones,
Mind swimming in Elgar,
In march-along band tones.
A pastoral idyll
Away from the humdrum?
In fact, to be truthful,
The suburbs of London:
Church Path in North Finchley,
Just back from the High Road,
A daily diversion,
A break before workload.
A short cut each morning,
A miniature pleasure,
A tincture so tranquil,
This tucked-away treasure.
C Richard Miles
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tucked-away-treasure/
