Walking in the country when the day is young,
see the dew is sparkling,
gem-like in the sun.
Walking in the country, day not very old,
feel the warmth upon your back,
sheep still in their fold.
Walking in the country, almost half past ten,
down the hedgerows warblers sing,
ramble beasts and men.
Walking in the country, soon be time for food,
hear the barking dogs that guard,
beasts in yard and field.
Lunch time comes by stony gate,
feet can rest, while stomach churns
mind can contemplate.
Who needs a portent, sign or tomb
to indicate the crack of doom
when all around in Spring each year
life emerges bright and clear,
potent miracle. Spain 2004
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