Bucolic
The smell of honeysuckle budding
The view of a once lively countryside now abandoned
The sounds of young children laughter that once filled the air
Is now the sounds of loneliness and despair
Looking over yonder the great plain filled with lots of peanuts and grain
The eye's watch us of an old farmer that was once young like we are
Graze through the garden of uncertainty
But still I travel through the efflorescence meadowland
To only be met with a shaking hand and a cold glass of sweet tea
To hear the life stories of an old man makes me think about my pa
But the day is growing old and so is he so we finish up our chatter
And as we make our way back to the lively, vivacious city the puissant smell of honeysuckle
Catches my nose and I remember the love I have for the Bucolic