Field
The grass grows to my knees,
inspired by the soft breeze
to waltz with the wildflowers under an indigo sky.
Around the field�s edge
The old split rail fence my grandfather made
still stands like a sentinel
guarding against the trees
lining the far end of my sight.
Under the cannonball sky
snow shelters the sleeping grass and
tops Grandfather�s fence.
A flock of geese honk-honks across the sky
and one little rabbit hunkers in her hole.
I turn with a sigh and light my lamps,
knowing summer will come again.
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