At Clumber Park

Your young heart yearned to return to the lake
Where the River Poulter’s breeching;
You read through a billet, decisions to make,
His words bubbled up beseeching.

With a parasol perambulate,
Ornamental bridge with a padlock;
Day visitors now will emulate
From Nottingham to Matlock.

You’ll pass in dreams the sluice and weir,
Pipes burp water to workers;
Horse chestnuts dress your path each year,
Your lover left for mazurkas.

They stripped the Hall of timber and bricks,
Snow for sheets where you slumber;
They stowed pianos and candlewicks
In crates with a stamp and a number.

I found the marsh where you would pause
For yaffle-sounds and bramble;
Still the swans preserve the laws,
And the lambs in the fields still gambol.

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