The Lane Poem by Marilyn Shepperson

We'd seen the entrance months before
Though we'd passed it many times
This was the first time we'd stopped
And gone in to explore
We walked through the narrow gate
And down the muddy track
Turning right at the bottom
To walk along the lane
Past rowan and alder trees
Hazel, beech and birch
Ferns, laurels and brambles
Some with berries on
Other plants I cannot name
While to left and to right
Were other paths we could have taken
But we kept to the main one
And on our right, to keep us company
A shallow, bubbling stream
That sounded like music or laughter
Or a muffled voice on a radio
Till we came to its' source, a tiny spring
Where a group of children played happily
Beside the strange carving of a large fish
We did not go all the way
Because when we reached a meadow
That was upon our left, we saw
Grey low clouds coming over the mountains
So we returned, the way we'd come
Back to where we'd parked our car
Agreeing that one day, we will come back
To walk further along the path
Or perhaps choose another one.