Acrostic Sonnet for Whitleigh
Wend through these ancient Whitleigh trees
Hiding blooms of Cuckoo Flower,
Infused with misted eau de vie
Time flows by on seasons showers.
Lancaster Gardens; bridle path
Encapsulating ghosts of old,
Indentured men grind plane and lathe
Gladdened nights wrap darkened folds.
Hewing five-bar farm gate and post
Guarding green fields of Budshead Road,
Ribboning west towards the coast;
Echoing Whitleigh Hall's abode.
Elegies sing of hearth and home,
Now here we rest, no more to roam.
(c) Ruth Muttlebury