The texture of an open space,
The vacant sky and distant blue,
Flows into hazy beams of light,
That shatter on the reeds and grass,
A tugging but withdrawing ache,
A refreshing breeze to season such a place,
The open world - that homely countryside,
Perhaps I'll long for you in time,
When I am far beneath a convoluted sky,
This place of youth and open land,
This blessed texture for a distant time perhaps.

Green way,
And the grey tattoo is hemmed in by lines of uninterrupted nature,
The uniform scar stretches along the earth,
As a myriad of green sways in the wind of hurtling tin cans,
The dancing trees exude vitality to the point of near bursting,
It's a strangly beautiful and upsetting sight,
You are present to see such a vibrant sprawl...
But the green way stands interrupted.