Tuesday 19 February 2008

Thoughts to a meadow

rippling gold cornfields
warm against the sky
the chattering brook
that passed my by
I take a walk
a walk so lonely
take me with you
and we shall fly

run with the wind
into the deep fields
I weave and I spin
and tonight it yields
a harvest so rich
it shames the eye
I am your crown
on your head I wield

moonbeams on lilies
grow silver by night
rhododendrons in full bloom
an army for a fight
there is peace in the breeze
in the bleat of the lambs
and we have flown high
to a long captured height...

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