A Journey

Away we go across the ocean tide
Into the errands of a man-made shore,
To fly from restless, tarring sides,
And wake up to the sleeping, dawning bore.

To peer above the beauty, monotone
The hues of slight variety, it sways
To tunes of the pastoral past alone
Provoked by some decaying green at bay.

Forever silenced, we ascend the clouds
And leave behind these empty strouds.