Leave your politics, leave your pen,
Leave your income tax return,
Leave your ink and fax and turn -
We're off to the hollows and hills.
Hollows and hills, hollows and hills.
Among the thistles we leave our ills.
They're bottling turmeric over the mills
And there's spice in the air today.
The breeze caresses the grass on the mound.
Fescue and cocksfoot quiver around.
The breeze caresses the leaves in the sky
And birch and beech and aspen sigh.
Hollows and hills, hollows and hills.
Among the thistles we leave our ills.
Scents of cinnamon float from the mills
For there's spice in the air today.
The sand creeps over our naked feet.
The sand in the bunker is ochre and sweet,
And gold-flowered gorse stands watch as we meet
As kindred spirits today.
Hollows and hills, hollows and hills.
Among the thistles we leave our ills,
And cloves pervade as ecstasy spills
And fills the hollow today.
Comments
insertponceyfre... | June 12, 2010 - 21:51
I like the rhythm of this very much, and the way it almost sounds like a child's nursery rhyme
Margharita | June 13, 2010 - 13:06
Love the use of all the senses, all the colours and the smells. Magical.
Kahdai | June 14, 2010 - 13:04
Ooh its exciting, I would run here with you Luly Whisper!
MistakenMagic | June 14, 2010 - 20:09
I agree with insert - great structure, the poem really carries you along. Beautiful ;)
Magic xxx
Cavalcaderl | July 21, 2010 - 20:45
new Luly Whisper
Well deserved cherry!
I agree with MistakenMagic
Beauty,and well constructed
Lovely love song.
julie x.