Rivers, meadows and long straight Roman roads,
or so the story goes,
Crows crow and sparrows make overgrown hedgerows home,
between the green hills that roll along with fields of rape seed yellow.
A slow stream flows where no one knows to follow.
Sheep's moans and cow's groans echo round an old oak hollow.
(perhaps)
A white wind blows through the woods,
whistling words/songs of sorrow,
for seeds that froze and cannot grow /fuck/ borrow.
(and perhaps)
Flocks of scarecrows foes scratch around in land left fallow.