The Wheat Fields
Golden like the summer sun,
While down upon the field it shone
Upon that sea, bereft of green,
Which wavered in the heat-haze sheen.
So many ears,
Yet none to hear
The melodic trill,
That drifts from winged feathered thrill
Of birds that watch me.
As i sit amidst the wheat fields.
May be continued?
Copyright © Chloe Green | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment