Pastoral Poem Number One (Pastoral Poetry WS)

I close my eyes and hear it beckon me
recumbent countryside of being’s realm
a voice that whispers, come, be city free
with such desire, my heart is overwhelmed

to leave the dank and dirty urban street
its people tired, too busy much to care
to find a place with friendly souls to meet
and taste and feel and smell the rural air

see animated murals as they form
feel ever-changing landscapes, as they push
intensely fragrant pure ambrosial storm
from multispectral flowers of the bush

watch setting summer suns that throw their light
all over wheat-filled oceans made of gold
that wave so gently, right to left, then right
a perfect shot for nature’s centrefold

and while the damp of twilight quells the fuse
enjoy horizon’s ever moving show
as, slowly, all the changing, softening hues
diminish down to just a fiery glow

with perfect background, iridescent tints
so paint the vista, using rainbow beams
as sinking heat reflects, it simply glints
then slowly fades to grey. Apollo dreams

while clutching Lady Night’s black velvet cloak
the panorama deepens, darkness creeps
and shades of starlit shadow now invoke
a sweet surrender yield, as nature sleeps

then sight will turn to crowds of twinkling gems
within a jewelled, giant serpent’s arc
that soars above, in heaven’s diadems
each bauble sending out a flawless spark

to know suburban’s neon, then the glen’s
it’s obvious, address it with a sigh -
one can’t but help compare His work to Men’s
then stare in silent wonder at the sky
.