As far as sight may discern,
Green, yellow, tucked in place
By a blue mantle:
That, lovingly, with admirability,
Caresses the land
And all the fruit it bears forth.
Soft pastels, of red and brown,
Converge to form
The hold of the light.
Bone yards on occasion.
In between fielded meadows, prolific grasslands;
A tiny wind\'s exhale
Then strums the chord of avidity as:
It bestows unison
For all the difference.
A siren\'s aria gleams across the surfaces of Earth\'s wonders;
It plays a tribute to my memory.
Valleys stretched wide, abide
In flora\'s sporadic oscillation;
The viridescence of a nation\'s center
Sways back and forth, side to side.
Far from the city bustle,
Or town halls, Ealdormans\' speeches,
This land is bound only by labor\'s merits.
I stroll along and wonder,
What a man on that harvest must ponder, feel.
Attempting to become him in the mind\'s eye:
Respecting his honest toil,
Envious, I commend his way of life.
Splendor of countless travels embraced by a serenade
Of old dirt paths, farmlands,
Humble cathedrals long aged.
Chimney sweeps settle, bid good tidings,
We exchange hellos,
And then farewell.
Topography has deemed it so,
Alas, these roads diverge.
\"Of little angst\", I say,
\"For I fret not which way to turn!\"