When dulling is the march through patchwork rain,
All things collapse into slow going thought,
There people make fine varied oranaments,
To minds becoming loud, too loud and droning on.

Rubbing out my face,
Until its blank and marks
Of weariness don't stretch,
But leave it still.
I am rendered a watcher
Of the day gone by,
My head in work so wonderful and tiresome.

Hello sweet eyes,
I see you heavy in the day,
But through you I see smiles,
Full weeks and setting Suns,
Speckled artfully by the way,
I see the world its beauty when it's cold,
The rising Sun flow lazy through the trees,
This land I live within a play,
It calls - beckons me to live to full,
To wade through heavy sight to see,
Glory as a man,
Who meets me as I pray.

There be spices hopping in the pot bellow,
Cooking up a storm in a flow of flavour,
Dancing round the onions until inevitably on my tongue,
I haven't got to run,
So I can just stay and eat,
With my family:
All toasty in the kitchen,
All toasty together.