Smoke on the horizon,
wispy puffs,
rising into the bluest of skies,
lit up by the sun in a spectacular see through fog,
smoke on the horizon,
above the house at the end of the field,
behind the hedge,
where the man is working in his garden,
and the cows in the fields next to him,
moo out loud as the man plants his veg,
and what glorious sun it is to be working in,
and what beautiful light that plays across the fields,
and where the light falls upon the grass,
what variation, gentility, and beauty is revealed,
and what wonder there is in the warmth of the sun,
that shines down so brightly from up above,
and what glorious works of art are in the trees all around,
in the patterns of the leaves,
and the bark on the trees that they are covered in,
and that protects them from the elements,
as they rise to the heavens seeking the sun that they love,
and how wonderful it is,
to sit here amongst the grass,
as the birds do sing, and what a great feeling it is,
to feel your emotions, rise,
from all the sights before your eyes,
where you sit and watch the world go by,
in such peace and tranquillity that nature does bring.