Onwards out of Polegate is where I paid my fare, Sitting in my window seat, the driver departs with care. Past tall green trees and hills etched with chalk, Where my thoughts went to my weekend walk. At a gentle speed, we continue on, A stranger nods, we stop, and...
I drove under the arched trees, Sheltered by their golden and red canopy. I missed the bumps as I climbed the hills, To look down for miles and miles. The beauty of a carpet of gold and green, lay before me like a film scene. The twisting roads of the forest, turned...
