Oh off beyond the countryside,
To concrete fields and glass meadows,
Then deeper into busy humanity,
Wearing different clothes and colours,
Wearing different eyes and noses,

Now hustle on into these sharpened trains,
In costume unfamiliar yet so nearly just the same,
Now bustle on into discomforting seats,
Share some words with perfect strangers,
Find they're rather neat in all their rich humanity,

Oh off beside the countryside,
For hours under clear blue skies,
For hours by oil painterly clouds,
That flow above lush life racing,
That frame the pretty flowers by the tracks,

Oh off beyond the countryside,
To battered train to olden shore,
Encamped each side by her majesty blue,
Here I glimpsed what I didn't know,
A place one dear to me has spent her days.

A poem for the road,
Away from rainy Westland,
Amidst the bold assertions of the sun,
Between the blowing bouts of rain,
Beside the verdant countryside again,
Becoming deeper entrenched in vibrant reality,
Culminating in great golden fields,
Crossing by the grassy hills like sleeping giants,
Creasing hills into their lumpy folds.