Between Fleet And Crookham Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

I saw a golden hill today
and as my eyes drank their fill,
wished for a sky of azure blue
but knowing it would dazzle,
and be untrue, settled instead for grey

A black rag crow tenants that tree,
forlorn, whose eastward lean
is ordered by our turning world
I am grateful for a sky of muddled grey
not one of gaudier hue
a gentle zephyr wanders
careless through the corn
wavers under soft caress
I turn to speak with you