Streaks of sunlight dash between the trees,
Catching the dodging bluebells who tease.
The silence broken by the whispering breeze,
Within the bounds of Treeton Wood.
The evening cars drift along, unknown,
Lost in the day's complex undertone,
The wheels slipping past the last milestone,
On the road beside Treeton Wood.
The kestrel casts abroad his knowing eye,
A cunning streetlight watchtower spy.
A movement; he launches into the sky.
Above the fields by Treeton Wood.
The wind whips the green wheat in the field,
Bending and rippling, each other shield,
In its ebbs and flows, the patterns revealed.
Across the road from Treeton Wood.
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