Foreign Fields

 

There is a foreign field for which I yearn,

Upon whose endless green such flowers bloom

That rainbows shield their colours

After summer’s frequent squalls,

So envious they seem to be:

And birds subdue their calls.

This field I walk in my minds eye,

Whose green I tread in endless awe,

Greets me with a breathe so pure

And scented by the blossoms there,

That all around seems heavens gate

And angels sing - of that I swear.

Though far away this foreign field may be,

Cross oceans, mountains, desert sands and streams,

There lies my heart in heather’s arms

Caressed by blossom, true and soft

No further steps I take:

Lest my heart be swept aloft.

 Â¤Aü§Póꆙ¤

8th September, 2002