William Sinclair Manson

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My-Poetry / Writings · 18 April 2024

My Poetry. Unspoilt land.

Mountains tall, rivers flow, 
Tall Trees proud, colours aglow, 
Whistling birds, melodic in tune, 
High banked sand, in the shape of a dune. 
Waterfalls pure, sweet-smelling air, 
Animals living, without being scared, 
Sounds of nature in its own domain, 
Growth so thick, lots of rain. 
Fish a plentiful, in rivers of gold,
will never be caught or ending up-sold,
The unspoilt land, can it be true?
Where the grass is so green, and skies are blue.
The only sound alive is life at peace
days very long a slow-release
nature at rest and left alone
No exhausts or a telephone.
Fruit-bearing trees tall and proud
Enough to eat if you're allowed!
no taxes, laws, just animal rules
Were nothing matters, undisturbed pools.
No fear of loss in its very slow pace
miles away from the old rat race
wake up in the morning to fresh cool air
Living off the land and all it can spare.
Tall green grass no need for mowing
viewing for miles the sun is glowing
wildflowers growing carpeted throughout
Even if it's arid, or a lengthy drought.
Visited by the few, unspoilt land
left to its vices mountains grand
a dot on the map, no one insight
Purely magical an ocular delight.
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