I am in Richmond Park,
Where grass is green as emeralds.
And the sky is a sparkling bright blue.
When I am in the dark,
I see shimmering, glimmering pools.
Deer sleeping in groups too.
The smell of fragrant flowers,
The smell of humid air.
The smell of nuts and sap,
Here and there.
All these smells bring me glee,
For these smells are nature, growing on a tree.
I feel the taste on my lips,
Of misty morning air.
Sweetness fills my mouth,
As I bite into a wild pear.
The delicious taste of icy water,
From the refreshing stream.
I ask myself,
If this is a dream.
Chirping birds, high in trees.
The gentle rustle of fallen leaves.
A cricket singing in the distance.
The croak from an idle frog.
A fish splashing,
A fox dashing.
The cool water of a rushing river.
The crispy crunchy leaves.
Softness is what the grass provides.
Rough bark on trees, on both sides.
Does anyone but me,
Understand what Richmond Park could be?
