I am rolling, rolling, down the grass-fed hill.

Down fast through its' feasts of wild surprises.

Passing the community of bright flowers as I go,

I'm a little apologetic that my downward crisis

Has invaded their tiny world, so kind, so still,

So microscopic, finely tuned, and very weirdly nice

As compared to mine, that's orchestrated by cars,

And traffic, and crowds and monthly bills, and is

A very long way from this lovely rolled-down hill.

Elizabeth Oakley

A Dursley Poet