I love to sit outdoors and sketch
The grassy fields of green which stretch,
While interspersed with lines of hedge
Right up to the very edge
Where earth meets sky, and miles away,
Even on a hazy day.
I am also very glad
To see the fields completely clad
In heather and such other plants
Which also do not look askance
At barren rocks with little soil,
The sort of fields where plants must oil
To get a footing and to thrive,
Where others could not stay alive.
Equally I love to draw
The dark brown fields which just before
Have all been very neatly ploughed
In lines to make a farmer proud.
They stand there, ready for the seed
Which the fields each year still need
If they're to go on to provide,
Another crop next summer-tide.
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