I sit on a green hill

I sit on a green hill

Lost in the faraway

The back of my mind

Playing tricks with its assembly

Somewhere in the distance

Beyond the horizon

Where once upon a time

My old self did roam,

Fishermen tending nets

Sing old shanties,

Fisherwives shout the odds

Seabirds squeal and wheel

As the blood and guts fly.

Old harbours

Spirited Pirates

Merry England for the dreamer.

Did London cast me out

When love died

Was I thrown to the winds

Left to rot

With the vagabonds

The weary travellers

Lost to time

Forgot by the hustle and bustle

Of life

Strewn by the wayside.

So many sad faces

Come to me

Lost in melancholia

Looking for acceptance

The coin is heavy

In my palm

It weighs me down

Eking my existence

In the shadows

Among the drifters

The flotsam, washed up

Waiting to die

As the great towers of Babel

Shimmer on the horizon

In a glimmer of language

Hope slips between the crack

Of my resolve

It is late in the day

And as I wait

The soft green grass grows over

My decision

To resume again

Or.