The road is long, dusty and tortuous;
It winds left and right, it rises and falls.
The birds are singing choral-like, so proud;
Their wings to the wind they blissfully flap.
Everywhere the leaves rustling like mad,
Their smell lulls the thumping of a heart in love.
But, oh boy, I see nothing of it, really,
And I can hear but the loud silence in it.
It’s all a vast dream that breathes and won’t leave me,
An image undulating, poetic, rustic,
Because I’m stuck in here, in the dullest of pink,
The sulky, spineless, feckless, hibernating me.