Like little eggs on cedar trees

The upturned pinecones sat.

Below a poppy peppered field

And on and on we marched. 

We came across a babbling brook 

The water clean and fresh

The air cool though the sun pierced through - 

And on and on we marched.

The earth was of a copper red 

The stone as white as bone 

And as we crunched the little lane 

We suddenly weren’t alone. 

A boar among the bushy trees 

Was snuffling as he ate 

The grass now turned a frosted pink 

The buds of spring awake 

But I looked to the sun-drenched vale

For I knew to journey on 

And while we trampled on and on 

I turned, and saw him gone.