Among green hills

Across the covered bridge

Yankee merchants trade

In quaint and rustic:

Half studied, half artless

All traditional.

Once a suave Euro-dude

My crew chief is a skinhead;

I am afraid.

At daybreak

Bright colors blossom

Topping stems of string.

Gigantic toys

Make us children again,

And small.

Field awash

With colors dance and sway:

A spectacle.

But who could stay

When my bright bouquet

Tugs at me

To be

Away?