A Walk In The Country Poem by john coldwell

My stick swings like a pendulum,
And it ticks like a clock,
My boots grind the gravel,
And stay firm on the rock.
Sunlight on hillsides,
And scent in the air.
Ah, a walk in the country,
A walk to nowhere.

But why must I carry,
The guilt of the day?
This lingering work ethic,
Will not go away.
Don't I deserve it?
The pleasures I see.
Seems the joys of retirement,
Don't come easily.

Troubling moods swirl all around me,
Oh, I keep them at bay.
But like the midges and greenfly,
I can't waft them away.
The Cowslip may mock me
The Columbine too,
O course! Their work is to be...
And not to do!