The Gate That Leads Unto The Field Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

I walk the lonely way ahead
Along the path I often tread,
Beyond I know the golden corn
Shall wave upon this summer morn,
There is no finer place to be
As there within the hedge I see,
The gate that leads unto the field,
And beauty there shall be revealed.

I lift the latch then open wide
The wooden gate then step inside,
And stand in awe as I do gaze
Upon the view a whispered haze,
Does linger on the distant hills
And to my soul such joy instils,
A sight that I know all too well
And I'm so happy here to dwell.

The mighty oak does firmly stand
And casts its shadow on the land,
I rest within its cooling shade
And know that here my fortune's made,
The lark does soar into the skies
And sings for joy as he does rise,
Into the air then disappear
Yet still his sweetest song I hear.

And there within the sunlight shine
The berries ripe upon the vine,
Where hawthorn and the holly dense
Do line the verge beside the fence,
With mayweed and the cowslip too
A palette of late summer's hue,
An image of the countryside
I look upon with greatest pride.

A little stream does gently flow
And ripples on the stones below,
With water's clear I take a sip
That's so refreshing to my lip,
And there I see a butterfly
I watch as it does flutter by,
Upon a flower it then does rest
As if for me a welcome guest.

I cross the stream then climb the stile
And then I linger for a while,
Beyond the meadow deep and green
Afar a woodland can be seen,
I venture on until I find
A tranquil spot and peace of mind,
And lean against my favourite tree
Then look upon the scenery.

For there I feel I do belong
Amongst the trees so tall and strong,
With twisted roots that rise and fall
A church without a spire or wall,
A holy place no bounds or ends
And where a reverent peace descends,
That fills my hopes my heart and soul,
So calming that it makes me whole.

Although so much I'd long to stay
To live my life and spend each day,
I must return as sunlight falls
And echoes of the evening calls,
Again I cross the gentle stream
As if for me a lasting dream,
The mighty oak still standing proud
Above the lark still sings aloud.

And then I reach the wooden gate
The skies aglow it's growing late,
I lift the latch then pull it to
And leave behind that wondrous view,
Before I go I take a glance
To watch the corn in breezes dance,
These memories stay I shan't forget
As now the sun does slowly set.