I like trees, probably more then sheep, except that trees don't taste so good in masala. It's another picture from the Park at Blenheim Palace.

Poetry starts now:

Gone, gone again,
May, June, July,
And August gone,
Again gone by,

Not memorable
Save that I saw them go,
As past the empty quays
The rivers flow.

And now again,
In the harvest rain,
The Blenheim oranges
Fall grubby from the trees