I just want to go home to the fields
To lay in the wheat with my dog
On cool nights under the moon
Where the wind can be heard
Through the fog
Familiar voices of the owls
A kit is heard calling its mother
Space is just a dimension in time
To be filled until comes another
Crickets who chirp in serenade
A lullaby that puts me to sleep
Hanging limbs of trees by the roadside
Who seem ready to weep
My dog glances over at me
In the unspoken language
With a somber look in his eyes
Out in the wheatfield with one another
Far from a city that cries
In likeness to sounding brass
The tinkling of cymbals
A rasping rythm of tambourines
Far in the distance is the cry of the city
Not able to penetrate what gleams
These fields will keep me safe
Insulated from the drama of rath
In this field with my quiet companion
Free to walk my own path
~Moses~
© 2004 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
