Gatekeeper Pigeon

I am the gate keeper, can't let you in;
this five-bar gate's under my claw.
Behind the gate cow parsley's up to my chin
and it's me that's in charge of the door.

You can follow the path through the dandelion clocks,
see the hawthorn hedge heavy with may.
There are tall seeding grasses to view if you like
but this gate is where I have my say.

I am the gate-keeper, can't let you pass;
this five-bar gate here is my perch
where I'll stay and protect the cow parsley and grass;
no, I shan't leave this field in the lurch.

So, off you go, walkers, and don't even think
of opening gates on your way.
Take your dog with you; leave me in the pink.
Thanks for looking. And have a nice day.

© Celia Warren 2015

Since yesterday, the revellers have gone. The police have packed away their helicopter and gone home, too. And by this evening Twyford Woods was open again. Too late for bank-holiday walkers. Instead we walked across gorgeous fields of beautiful seeding grass, dandelion clocks, teasels, and hedge parsley, all edged by densely blossoming hawthorn hedges, alive with birdsong. Daisy dog found a small amount of dirty ditchwater to paddle in, so she was happy (and had a bath when she got home).

But when Miss PP pointed out the blip potential of the gatekeeper above, the bird won the day.

Tonight we should sleep well. Though I have to admit, we never heard the revellers breaking a Travelodge window downstairs in the wee small hours to climb through and spend the night under cover, but it does explain the police visitors here this morning. All admiration and respect to the woman alone in reception dealing with the situation over the past 48 hours while her paying guests had a comfortable visit all told.