The garden will grow
Let it become a jungle
Old walls tumble down
The garden will grow
Let it become a jungle
Old walls tumble down
In your black pupils
In the shadow of apples
In my own mind’s eye
Could I live up here
On this faded windswept moor?
A solitary rock
Summer is over
The time for harvest is here
Let the work begin
If wild flowers
Are sown from a pack of seeds
Are they really wild?
In a horse drawn cart
We move on, ever westward
A journey of peace
To live a wild life
We must provide our own needs
And consume much less
To simplify
To remove the cruft
To simply be
Thistle faries float
Wherever the wind takes them
I wish to be wild
On this tumulus
Where bones crumble into dust
We reach our fathers