Taking all troubles through the downtown fields of wheat Heart swells with strangeness of strangers on the street To make love the city all I can do is eat In revolving romance for the world at my feet In spite of all the traffic we all know the good weather I walk in childish clothing and dream of purple heather Tweedy thrift store pockets full of poets I think never Let a bit of poverty harden hearts to leather I will find the Hinterland One that feeds and grows Keep to the outside that all men know Fashion a crown out of dead grass and snow I will find the Hinterland I love lists of provisions of the gold rush men up North What pure bread from fifty pounds of flour must come forth I eat as much bacon and beans for what it might be worth I need communion with hardship past for the asphalt on my earth