In the deep

Lush of fields and blue of Skies,

The flowers with their beautiful butterflies

The flowing rivers with boats and oars,

And the surf breaking on sea shores

The gush of blood, the silent thud

Beneath a repose, the rover calls.

                 

This scrambling town with its auto smokes,

As if intentionally it means to provoke,

The jabbering folks throng to burthen,

As if their sole wish is to create hurdles,

The strength of mind, the will at its might,

Want to feel this flight, but alas! I am not tied

                   

The glint of tamed and the warmth of kin,

The sheen of gold and the élan of silk,

The plush-ness of life, for the greens do hike

These hankering cries and the sleepless nights

Impressions have soured, Expressions have roared

Now the words do flow, but my ink has dried.