Britain’s countryside

Yellow cornfields
Rolling and pitching against
Endless blue.
Poppies stand proud,
Scattered red velvet adorning fields,
Slow sway in a hazy breeze.
Green and wild,
Shaded streams
And rushing brooks
With faerie glens,
Cool and calm,
Magical in their birdsong.

And sunshine making everything
Sharper, brighter,
Even more beautiful.

Surrounded by such wonders, I sit,
Trying to write it new,
Find the right words to say.
But this is all I have.
Britain’s countryside.
An endless cliché.


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