Bliss

Nature is more alive than anything on the moors, 
Back home, beaten disheveled greens,
Of grass blades mingle with the mosses,
And the dullness of earth's many scenes. 

The winds howls are constant, 
Bitter in the winters long and cold,
Kinder by the summer,
Where the sun shines gold. 

Here the petals are exquisitely painted, 
Flowers bloom around the trees,
And when the wind blew nothing was left but
The perfume in the sultry breeze.

Petals and leaves impressive in size,
The height of the trees,
And when the wind blew,
The perfume on the sultry breeze.

The beauty of this place transcendent,
If I turn on the spot this tropical world, 
will become a kaleidoscope, blurred and brilliant,
One where the leaves never curled. 

This place seems like a fantastical picture, 
In a children's book, 
But now I have seen its beauty, 
One too beautiful to overlook.