The Chalky Fields At Leavening Poem by Paul Judges

Living on the edge of the Yorkshire Wolds, England, is mostly uneventful, but sometimes.....

THE CHALKY FIELDS AT LEAVENING

In the chalky fields at Leavening
my love and I did stroll
almost every evening
we never saw a soul;
blonde hair she had and copper flesh
the colours didn’t really mesh.
She was often under-achieving
at the Jolly Farmers, Leavening.

The many ales along the bar
gave off that beery smell,
yet her breath was worse by far
as though she wasn’t well;
out the front some ladies smoked
while back inside the men all joked.
Fields around were loud with bleating
sunny skies were always fleeting.

She threw a really nasty glare
at the gypsy playing pool
who then returned an icy stare
and chucked a heavy stool.
My love! my love she couldn’t speak
her pulse became so soft and weak;
I held her above the pool of blood
but gentle words weren’t any good.

(In memory of the late John Betjeman, author of the wonderful ‘Pontefract’ poem)