Alone, at last, away from all care,
Gone bush to lose the daily stress,
Around blades of grass like spindly hair
Shimmer under the wind’s duress.
Close, a trickle from a lonely creek,
Somnolent music sounding so sweet,
This rustic mood for long I did seek,
Soil crumbles beneath my bare feet.
And in the distance a laconic herd,
Flapping tails fend off droning flies,
Early moon rises, the night’s first word
As the fading light of the sun replies.
Golden cascades stream across the earth,
Gone my aches, pains, the nervous cough,
This bucolic spa, it has the upmost worth,
Oh no, that’s my mobile phone going off.