The Elysian Fields

Crystal clear rivers winding into the distance
The sweet smell of long summer days
Lilac, Peony, lavender and Hyacinth
Gentle swooping doves flying across the land
Roses planted row on row; with petals the colour of the sun
Mere wisps of clouds are all that dare pervert the crisp blue sky
The grass is a pure green, not besmirched with a single thistle
Cherry trees are in full blossom
The occasional petal is carried by the very smallest of breezes
A rabbit of pure white hops graciously across the ground
In search of food; which is nothing but plentiful
Crisp apples; as red as the Black Prince’s Ruby
Hang from the trees; with only a few permitted to lie upon the ground
The only sounds audible are those of perfection;
The gentle calling of the birds, the slow running water of the golden rivers
And soft notes and chords of a slowly played harp linger in the air
A lonesome man hanging from a heavy rope in the grandest of Oak trees
Maybe the Elysian Fields were not what he needed