Bishopdale Colours Poem by C Richard Miles

Now let me count the colours on the road to Bishopdale
Since it is spring and everything is now no longer pale
With winter. Lemon fresh, elusive primroses are out
As daffodils and buttercups, in golden chorus, shout
Their presence. On the tops, red-russet, bracken adds its hue
To bluebell and forget-me-not reflecting sky’s bright blue.
Though snow’s cold crystal cape no longer drapes each field and hill,
Bright blackthorn blossom dances and the lambs are never still
All black and white, as Swaledale sheep, their mothers, try to graze
In verdant grass where yellow dandelions brightly blaze
In contrast. By the water’s edge, as cheerful as a clown
Pink butterbur blooms by the beck beneath the beech’s brown.
Stone walls, adorned with lichen shades of gamboge, green and grey
Add richly to the vivid green that darkens every day
To add to all these shades and boost their numbers even higher.
Soon summer’s meadow flowers and sunset’s flames will add their fire
To the plethora of paints on the palette, without fail,
A colour cornucopia, en route to Bishopdale.