Temple, you have served me well,
With fields of verdant hue,
Your flora strewn on every peak
And trough within my view.
Beyond the hedge your willows weep,
As does my pining eye,
And pheasants now traverse the fields
Where as a child I lie.
Appease me with your gentle streams
And woods of amber-grey!
Shroud me with your peacock-sky
Forever and a day!
Walk me to the water's edge
Down by your mossy dell,
Then let me think about my past
Which once I knew so well.
By L.R. Chapman
from Modern Melancholy, 2004