Question.
Born under greendown farmer’s scar,
but now amongst the pinched ones -
a child of earth to man-made stone
is walking through the grey.
In cities armour, there we are
pedestrian stiff-coat bones.
Sometimes, no mirth
for what we have become,
or knowledge dare not known,
the emptiness we help to hone.
O’ child of grass-seed skies
when will you help us seek,
to gaze renewed - in curiousity,
in splendour of wonder’s
perfect way?