Following a quiet little trail,
Far from plane and rail,
Or cities busy sprawl
All at once not one, but all
Bits of blue, part of a whole,
Will rest supremely on a knoll.
They might as well be exploding
And better than a hill eroding.
As we struggle so hard to achieve
Some beauty around to relieve
Hard living circumstances there
Sweet little flower, you are rare.
You give a a welcome respite,
We owe you for making things right.