Song Bird Soliloquy
Hand in hand, we float through these silver-topped fields.
Each blade dances as we pass.
This spring morning, the sun caresses your cheek.
The grass — illuminated with an impressive sheen.
My soft eyes glimmer as yours shine.
Your palm in mine, crop-crushing boots guiding your impulse.
Your eagerness fatigues me; no such encumbrance impedes you.
Thousands of times, we have trekked these fields, each time a joy.
A gesture; your smile grows, cheeks dimple, heart fills.
I’d tell you to count each blade of grass before the sun met high noon.
Your playfulness flowing through the field, nature engulfing your young spirit.
A songbird cries in the distance.
Winter morning.
Boots squelching in the slush, the winds whistle as you tread.
The grass welcomes your enthusiasm; a snow-capped sea parting in two.
Your warmth contests the morning sun.
Your free mind wanders around the silver grass.
A songbird cries once more.
