This poem first appeared here back in 2015. I frequently visit Spa Woods (the place referred to in the below poem), and always gain something slightly different from the experience.
The path taken less often than I should,
This tranquil place through a nearby wood.
A spot with trees for walls
Where sunlight through the branches falls.
An oasis from the urban din
I find a quiet place within.
An inner space where the heart can be still,
A peaceful spot on this wooded hill.
The path to the road ascends.
A cloud of gloom on me descends.
I must return to this rented land
Where advertising hordings stand.
A world where empty vessels make most noise,
And people play with broken toys.