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
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