49.) Lancelot runs south and sings...
Little pine trees loafing on a green pod-covered hillside
The lake bobs up and down with an ice blue sheen
Purple rag frost painting pokes its head behind the hills
Gently nibbling llamas on the left / the prairie
A strip of deep blue / The American Southwest
In a dip between the hills, chunks of fur
What are these sprigs that glow with cream
Another lake slides by, soft painted glass
Placid pods sit against the sky
Sweet black coffee and scenery overwhelm
Lines of trees and a river sparkling river, the water thick like marble.
A pristine white vintage car breezes past under poplars
More baby crags peer over the overlapping hills
Thick rich wide blue river steps out of the trees and explosions squawk out of the TV
The mountains in the distance are... actually blue
Pop over a hill and the city lies like a sprinkling of dandruff on the other side of a vast, choppy blue desert beneath a wall of mountains rising out of the mist...