My Idyll Quiet I lie in the summer dressed field drinking purified air from sky's cool, clear glass, fanned by leaves that are the sun’s proud yield, that cool the fervorous wings of the birds that pass, while the soft breeze whispers o'er long tall grass. From the depths of its lungs may the town’s voice shout, but not stir this idyll with a slight trespass, nor publish a bribe with a promise of gelt. Bee, who denies praise of your hard earned keep as you work the plants by which I stretch reclined. and butterfly too, from your store I reap, while in the bright ripe blooms you gently mine. But my soft bare hands offer no design, but to stroke the pelt of the soft-winged bird; to quell the thoughts that fuel her loud repine and to lay my languid head on, undisturbed.
Gary Borck seeks peace through his poetry and his regular visits to a local park. He enjoys reading John Clare, Paul Dunbar and Algernon Swinburne. He hopes that people can gain a similar type of excitement from his poems as he does when he reads his favourite poetry.