Skipping stones at the catacombs,
Chipping soft rocks.
Lime scape landscapes.
Peaks and troughs battled on days off.
Still like garden gnomes.
Still not watched game of thrones.
Our own idyllic idealism,
Our own.
Only ours.
Only the stars shine brighter than your eyes.
And only Mars bars are sweeter than you.
This lands ours we roam in chosen moments.
Golden like the sunbeams.
Some dreams could still come true.