Labyrinth

I escape from the house after another spiteful
argument, my only solace the conifer labyrinth.
Bracken-lined bridleways are the narrow paths
we follow, past a lonely lodge and creaking gate.
Dodging the fastidious forester, a motorized Minotaur,
all part of the danger of our summer adventure.
Such joy in a newly discovered glade, a peacock
butterfly, known to boys perpetually delayed.
A scrub-enveloped railway cuts through pines,
adders bask on the banks of this disused line.
War-time crypts are top secret dens, if only
entrance holes were easy to find again.
Watercress fills a stagnant soke dyke
we peddle furiously by on beaten-up bikes.
Plunging knee-deep into the overgrown mire,
pungent smells released, the Sphagnum’s ire.
At the cross-roads, no waymarks to aid our crusade;
which path leads to the inner sanctum of this maze?
Retracing tyre tracks, following the nightjar’s song,
the labyrinth falls silent now the boys are gone.