Local Poetry

White Coppice  By David Hook

The autumn leaves cascading down,
the woodland floor all gold and brown.
The meandering stream, the water clear,
Low sun in the sky means winters near.

The village green, a cricket field,
A time forgotten, all revealed.
Benches in memory of Husband and Wife,
Who enjoyed this backdrop in an earlier life.

The baron landscape of heather and rock,
The dry stonewalls, taken more than a knock.
The views across Lancashire a sight to behold,
Where famous Landmarks stand prominent and bold.