Worlds apart

I see the world through the eyes of English.

My colours are green and red and blue.

And do they mean the same to you?

My green is the May grass in the field

Near the river,

And yours is the palm by the beach

Or the shallow sea,

At Santa Ponsa in the morning.

You see verde, maybe,

But what you’ve seen

Is not the same as green.

My hot and cold are felt on Somerset hills,

When the warm air comes in June

From the Channel with the seagulls,

Or when the east wind blows

And on a February morning

Plays havoc with the frozen grass.

Your hot is a sultry afternoon of August in Seville,

And your cold is the freezing night just east of Soria.

The benchmarks in this world we share,

And the side of the fence you happen to be,

They all depend where you were raised.

What you say is what you see.

Poem every Monday