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