In Coxley Valley
And there ligg I,
As happy as, they say,
A pig that roots the muddied ditch,
Or rolls in worse,
Where hidden birds sing high
And as brightly as the day
Way above their usual pitch
Here in Coxley Valley
Streamside ligg I,
Near-sighted, as they say
By latticed leaf and dragon fly
On lush sprung grass
Shaded from a cloudless sky
As distant churches chime midday
A tranquil time in Tykes’ July
A.McTiernan
