Hay Field

The hay field reclines away from me,
It is my neighbor,
Where I stop to listen each day
To the languages of
Bird and wind,
The scolding voices of crows
the silence of hay
And the last words of dying roses.
I know no other blessings than these.

High on the crowns of Maples,
There are hints of a new season.
these are the exquisite moment’s
Of the stones in my soul,
falling from the unkept promises
Of my heart.
I know no other blessings than these.

There are stars and moons and planets
Sharing the sky amidst a star dust of wonder.
Where bluebirds shine with joy and hope.
Watching hay turn its season,
As I will, in the long memory of time.
I know no other blessings than these