Located somewhere off the A1(M),
you’ll find the modest town of Buckley Oak:
A paragon of Englishness, a gem
of simple, sleepy lives, and gentle folk.
At each end of the High Street there’s a pub;
on weekends there’s a market in the square.
The chippie by the bridge provides the grub,
the church upon the hill provides the prayer.
So take a wander past the mismatched homes –
through Georgian elegance to red-brick row –
past hanging baskets, lawns, and garden gnomes;
pull up a table – have a cuppa’ joe.
Now tweak those curtains – take a look inside,
and let four sonneteers be your guide.