On this hill
I now stand free
from the smell of hustle ‘n’ bustle
fume filled cities.
Through the shadow
of my sun-protecting hat
I see real life hiding
in the poppy-stained grasses.
Avenues of lime
fence the country lanes
and lead to a single spire,
where birth, marriage
and the finality of death
are sung about from the same book.
Beyond the chaple, sheep
roam the flayed-fleece fields.
A far off forest sits
like a black cloud
on my horizon…
as I wash my canvass
in a watery blue.
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