There is a patch of green,
High up, Lord, where I can meet You,
On a round topped hill where the air shines
And there is bright colour.

On the last day of this season
Before the tumultuous clouds shake their nails,
There is time for communion,
Before the orchard trees are blasted
By the whips of cold rain,
Pain in laughing thunder.

Let us take this time
As precious, the square handkerchief
Of peace and quiet green,
And forgetfulness with You, Lord.