In
lawns and fields where the wildflowers sway,
a poet wanders lost in the day.
Whispers of wind,
ridelines on the air,
stories of nature beyond
all care.
The poet of the fields sings soft and free,
in every leaf a quiet melody.
Words like rivers flow through the land,
painting dreams with a gentle hand.
Flowers drift by like poems untold,
sunlight spills in hues of gold.
The earth is a canvas,
skies are the rhyme,
captured in verses,
untouched by time.
The poet of the fields sings soft and free,
in every leaf a quiet melody.
Words like rivers flow through the land,
painting dreams
with a gentle hand.
In silence the poet's heart will haunt,
with every breeze the sun will come.
Through dusk and dawn
the verses stay,
for the fields will sing what words can't say.
The poet of the fields sings soft and free,
in every leaf a quiet melody.
Words like rivers flow through the land,
painting dreams with a gentle hand.