Corners of fields where rushes grow
And cows chew
Under the smoke of clouds
That's a place I want to be

Small copses
Huddled at the edges of things
Where trees hold out their arms
And dance in the wind
Gifting their leaves
That's where I want to be

The Old Man
Holding his staves
Held between the Downs
And a sky
Blue as a sapphire
That's where I'll be