Wingfield Manor by Belinda Bradley - Derbyshire Poetry
PUBLISHED: 11:52 15 July 2010 | UPDATED: 17:32 20 February 2013
A poem about Wingfield Manor by Belinda Bradley
Holding hands, we made our way along the footpath,
through fields of purple grass, soft, feathery to touch,
stood admiring the view of rolling hills and pastures new.
Carried on through some woods, where spindly trees reached up
to the heavens above, stepped on a wet carpet of leaves,
an assortment of browns, and a fluorescent green.
Came across, Wingfield Manor. A stone ruin with imposing walls,
tall chimneys and gaunt towers, we felt in its power.
I wondered whose eyes would have looked down
on the ground we were walking upon.
What thoughts and feelings did those eyes have?
Were they happy or sad? Leaving it behind we spied
three sheep sleeping in the shade, and climbed over a metal gate
to a place where a wild horse sheltered in a tin hut,
and hens clucked in their makeshift pens.
In a meadow, rich with gold we pitched our tent,
and spent the night in each others arms,
under a starry sky.
Belinda Bradley - 11/03/2010