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.