The Gentle Soliloquy of the Country Air
Oh, breathe me deep, for in my gentle sigh,
You hear the voice of fields beneath the sky.
I sweep the clover and the dusty lane,
A voiceless sermon in the sun and rain.
No city’s clamour on my current rides,
The honest scent of pine where nature hides.
I carry whispers from the rustling maize,
And cool the brow in August’s sultry haze.
I am the chorus of the quiet dawn,
The breath of mist above the dewy lawn.
I tell of seasons, in a simple way,
And speak of peace, you lose from day to day.
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