Flower child outside the fields,
your wand’ring home will be
these paths that skirt around the stacks
and end up by the sea.

They wind around the sodden downs
through air that’s soft and sweet,
a walk where you avoid the crown
and spy good stalks and leaves.

The asters, they will kiss you there,
samphire will sing to thee.
O flower child outside the fields,
come join this panoply.


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