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This poem was submitted by a son who found it, hand-written, on a scrap of paper amongst his father's possessions. The father, who died a little while ago, had been billeted in the region during World War 2, and enjoyed visiting our area after the War. The son believes his father did indeed write the poem, but he is not sure. The words say it all.
Bredwardine
Breathing god’s sweet air beside
The Birch and Oak- a vista wide,
Green hills rising to the eye
And over all the summer sky
Reflects upon the pleasant Wye;
Whose silver ripples gently flow
Neath warm and friendly pink sandstone.
Then heavenly quiet, our souls are one.
How else I am to all that’s good
Emotion few have understood.
So late to come, but there for ever
This brief encounter none can sever.
And through the years when I recline
In solitude, and thoughts are mine
That moment I shall pluck from time
In truly, lovely Bredwardine.
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