The beautiful day was drawing to a close. Algy found a comfortable spot on some closely-cropped turf and lent back against a large clump of marram grass to catch the last of the afternoon sun. Although there weren’t any flowers in the grass just yet, and he certainly didn’t have a town to return to, the experiences of the day reminded him of the poem Afternoon on a Hill by Edna St. Vincent Millay:
          I will be the gladdest thing              Under the sun!           I will touch a hundred flowers              And not pick one.
          I will look at cliffs and clouds              With quiet eyes,           Watch the wind bow down the grass,              And the grass rise.
          And when lights begin to show              Up from the town,           I will mark which must be mine,              And then start down!

The beautiful day was drawing to a close. Algy found a comfortable spot on some closely-cropped turf and lent back against a large clump of marram grass to catch the last of the afternoon sun. Although there weren’t any flowers in the grass just yet, and he certainly didn’t have a town to return to, the experiences of the day reminded him of the poem Afternoon on a Hill by Edna St. Vincent Millay:

          I will be the gladdest thing
             Under the sun!
          I will touch a hundred flowers
             And not pick one.

          I will look at cliffs and clouds
             With quiet eyes,
          Watch the wind bow down the grass,
             And the grass rise.

          And when lights begin to show
             Up from the town,
          I will mark which must be mine,
             And then start down!