Plain

On the quiet plain where horizons sigh,
A sea of grass rolls soft beneath the sky,
Gold‑tinged stalks whisper in the gentle breeze,
While distant hills keep watch like ancient trees.

No bustling town, no neon glare to mar,
Just endless earth beneath a changing star,
Where sheep dot the meadow like white‑threaded seams,
And clouds drift slow, painting watercolour dreams.

Here time feels stretched, a calm, unhurried hymn,
The plain invites the heart to wander, dim,
In muted hues of brown, of sage, of grey—
A simple beauty that will never fray.