Somewhere between the field and sea
Lay a place one would like to see.
It's drowning not water, but in trees -
When blue hits green my eyes do freeze.
In mind I wander everywhere,
Much faster than moon sphere -
Sometimes I'm kissed by salty breeze
And then I sit in grass on knees
Swift walk upon deserted coast
Where water makes the islands' ost.
The fifteen hundred pieces of peace,
All dropped around without cease.
Then one might rest in pleasant shade,
Which is a slot by bluetts made.
And find the shelter for the mind,
Being embraced by perchance wind...
It calls my mind with vintage matter -
In here and there old castles' scatter
With cobbled roads so often looping
Among old dwellings nobly drooping.
But Lady I do argue about
Is not senile, don't have a doubt:
A neo song that beats her heart
Is kind of modern charming art.
...It's not as ancient as the rest,
Of Course, it's not even the best,
Yet I do know that land's more rare,
Than ones disguised by false compare!
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
Somewhere between the field and sea
Lay a place one would like to see.
It's drowning not water, but in trees -
When blue hits green my eyes do freeze.
In mind I wander everywhere,
Much faster than moon sphere -
Sometimes I'm kissed by salty breeze
And then I sit in grass on knees
Swift walk upon deserted coast
Where water makes the islands' ost.
The fifteen hundred pieces of peace,
All dropped around without cease.
Then one might rest in pleasant shade,
Which is a slot by bluetts made.
And find the shelter for the mind,
Being embraced by perchance wind...
It calls my mind with vintage matter -
In here and there old castles' scatter
With cobbled roads so often looping
Among old dwellings nobly drooping.
But Lady I do argue about
Is not senile, don't have a doubt:
A neo song that beats her heart
Is kind of modern charming art.
...It's not as ancient as the rest,
Of Course, it's not even the best,
Yet I do know that land's more rare,
Than ones disguised by false compare!
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