Fields of Prayer.

Her tears the rains that drowse upon the earth, to littered streets, Soft her breath the breeze, to blow the cobwebs at her feet, Seeds she does in hearts of men, a flower to so compare, To concrete heights in cities found, no colours do they share, That all the world an Eden she tasks in every day, To butterfly our hopes and dreams in each and every way, Yet man so cold and ignorant, her beauty blind to see, That all the world in angels eyes, could spin so perfectly? But paint she does in seasons then, the colours of this earth, The autumn leaves her ochre; the winter snows her mirth, Her summer sun to light the world in golden fields of prayer, The spring a faithful promise that her heart for all to share.