The capital’s streets weave around me
So tight that it almost looks like I’ve forgotten
but you can’t see what’s underneath
the ember of an emerald
Of vast green fields stretching as far as I can see
Of the white beads dripping down a 99
From the orange September sun
The capital’s buildings tower above me
So high no sun comes through
We seek it out
Like we’ve left it behind here or there
behind this building or that.
The capital’s people stare blankly
Not knowing their howiya from their how are you?
But we won’t hold it against them.
Their blue suits
White shirts
And red socks.
I’ll keep my colour scheme, thank you.
My fields
My ice cream
And my sun.
All that remind me of home.