Ronnie Goodyer
Quantocks Now
Taking now the force from a sun-driven day
We enter the Great Wood’s grace and climb,
Warned by Buzzards,
The tree-leaf track,
To rise above Spring-flecked slopes
Of deer-hiding Aisholt Common
And breathe new air from Somerset skies.
Turning now to gaze the Quantock Hill horizons,
Fresh with Sir Henry Newbolt eyes, and,
Startled by Jays,
Paint in pastels
The honey-stoned church
Whose clock has frozen the hamlet
In stove-pipe days of sepia and gold.
Descending now to follow the Great Wood cleave,
The waymark valley of sandstone clitter where,
Drummed by woodpeckers,
We are content to feel small
Against the lean of Lydeard Hill,
And, bordered by Bagborough beeches,
Watch dippers in Cockercombe Bottom’s invisible stream.
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