We find our little seats,
In plans of glory immemorial,
So elevated are the humble acts,
Of charity and love's restraint,
To share in this long age's way,
Is gladness and the coming fullest joy.

The shards of fallen sky avail themselves,
Raving beasts to dine upon the tumult,
With roars and bursts of light are torn in rage,
Fall upon the napes of trembling trees,
Clatter to the unmoved earth -
Impotent, they are subsumed.

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.