Winding away

A green of all colours yellow brown & dark grey While the footpaths all darkly goes winding away Creeping onto a foot-brig that crosses a brook Or a gate or a stile & how rustic they look Some leaning so much that the maidens will go Lower down with their buckets & try to creep through There is nothing more sweet in the fields & the sun Than those dear little footpaths that oer the fields run…