March of Gold

by Blake   Mar 2, 2019


Golden fields
Welcome tender breeze
Gaze withdrawn
To these grainy seas
Love cannot wake
To the sun at your door
Of golden fields
Not to sway anymore
Listen not
To sounds of earth
No bells or cries
Or the worlds sweet mirth
Children roam
with one voice late
And fields of gold
Beyond choice or fate
Above mountains and rivers
Of bright flourishing rye
Soon we all need
Someone to kiss us goodbye

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