Friday, October 4, 2013

Empty Green Fields, Seen from a Train

This is the pale green part of the map.
Leaves tumble onto the grass's lap.
Nobody crunches them underfoot.
All of this place is a gap.

The speeding train mocks the stilly scene
Or is it mocked by the languid green?
Our days fly by, the world stays put;
Beauty is in between.

Beauty is somewhere along the way
Somewhere we never get to stay.
Something we saw out the window pane
On a Winter's day.

Like the clean smooth fields that lie outside
The city, the village, the whole world wide;
A field lying fallow, an empty lane,
Aloof without pride.

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