Some thoughts of Upper Heyford

Sun bleached door
wreath of straw
tell tale snail trail
on the floor
daubs to treasure
for good measure
wasps a whizzing
held in awe
Bee’s are buzzing
Cabbage whites
a Red Admiral
clearly fights
the great heat
spiral in the sky
puffs of cloud
now hanging shy
a pewter girl
her tunic torn
captured on
this Summer morn
through the window
she now glances
memories of
those bygone dances
she performed
on ballrooms where
the music flowed
as did her hair