WORDS OF THE LIVING

(FIELDS)

Hay bales,
Lie, lonely
Accompanied, only
By a scarecrow
Stuffed with straw
That was his only flaw
His fragile body
Held no heart
Emotions, joy or jealousy
As he watched me,
Beside the country lane
In a field of wheat and grain

Sunset starts
Replacing the grey heavens
The fields, a dying of the arts
Look over at the elderly farmer, Mr Evans
Was his name
Couldn't tend to his fields
As his back moved with a sprain

The man looked out through the window pane
At his flourishing, fields of grain
And he forgot, all the pain