The Field
Soft breath winds crossed the field
Wildflowers bending in its reverence
Cottoned clouds in their endless journey
While the brook chattered over rocks
It was a secret place
Discovered on a Sunday walk
And later our place for picnics and passion
In the warm days of spring and new beginnings
Carrion crows gossiped from the stand of pines
Tall grasses hissed around the breeze
From somewhere a ewe called for a lamb
And the sun was gentle and generous
You would be there, on your back, eyes upward
Smiling at all that was
Wishing that every day could be so wondrous
Until the splendor brought your tears of elation
And there was me . . . . sole witness of true grandeur
Found within the curve of your lip or winsome half smile
You were more glorious than the boastful clouds
More radiant than the sun against the brook stones
Far more gentle and fulfilling than the calming breeze
More easily loved than all of creation
For as the earth will one day consume me
So did you so long ago
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