Chatsworth, home of Lords and Ladies,
Peaceful haven from an outside fades.
The house stands alone, majestic and royal,
Built on foundations of sweat and toil.
All around, sights and sounds are kind,
Looking and listening will rest the mind,
A breeze through the trees, a silent whispering,
Sunlight on a fountain, a precious glistening.
Wonderment abounds within the gate,
There a river, there a lake,
Look about! Scenes a delight to see,
One has entered heaven without a key.
Deer run and wildfowl gather,
Rabbit and hare abound the heather,
High in the sky a lark will sing,
Then hurtle down on a steady wing.
You turn to leave, for dusk is falling,
But still you hear the silence calling.
It is the fountain or a whisper in the grass?
You hurry, for fear darkness bar you path.
The gravel is music ‘neath’ your foot
And bide you turn for one last look.
To leave this enchantment your heart is sorry,
But with you always, a precious memory.
R BRUNT AGE 16 YEARS