In idyllic pastures of lush serene,
I saw a red old village house unseen,
To the eyes unveiled like Arcadia's heaven,
Shimmering,startling, haunting,
My senses foreseen,
Peaceful meadows encompass mine heart,
O!Hither and thither sway the tulips look aft,
To the psyche's pleasure utmost,
Singing,playing, crying,
Bringing out mine inner poet,
Who must've lived, who must've not,
Who would've left this to rot?
To the dismay of life, death is to clot,
Fading,dying, forgetting,
What is there but naught?
Pastel pastoral fields yonder,
O,thy embrace doth makest me wonder,
To what do I owe this pleasure?
Soothing,sweetening, lingering,
Like affection's thread forever.