Escapee's
Field's are slashed, crops are gone
There golden colours no more.
Grasses grow on the side of the road,
Remanence of what went before.
Year after year these escapee's live on
Telling there tail, proud and true.
Standing tall on the side of the road,
Reaching up to our big blue.
I could not resist these solitary few,
Against our ever changing sky.
There colors so bright an vibrant,
Without having to try.
Art and poem
By
Annmaree Mitchell