Driving Up the Dusty Lane

Driving up the dusty lane,

Up and down as the valley

Rolls and pulls the vehicle

Into troughs and high ground again,

As on a fairground Ferris ride.

It’s lazy down there,

On the corner where the red poppies

And the hay corn on the other,

Surprise you constantly

With their fire cracked, wind rushed

Red and gold.

All this in a car.

You see everything, everywhere

In a split scene,

Striking, but ultimately lost

To memory,

As soon as you pass by.

But I remember the corner,

Just before the dipping lane,

The rubies and the crowns

Created by nature for nature.