He has to smile – to match these sun – soaked miles for compete jovial aptitude
A rusted fork forced deep within the gold – lambasted hay
To carry out over a yonder via a muscled, old and worn shoulder
These fields have been calling him at rather beneficial will, still there, forever painted upon – oft even taking the suggestion to be pained upon strong
Only the colour of this landscape changes with these precarious times – nonetheless kind, kind, kind on the stand – apart eye
Has to smile, find more and more of this clockwork time to drench himself, delve quite enviously into the magnificent undertone
Which sits on up to permittedly interrupt his evening everything