Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Standing In A Field by the phantom

Standing In A Field

The air smells good.
The sun is bright;
The grass is soft.
I'm standing in a big field looking over the horizon.
I see clouds in the distance.
A storm is brewing.
Maybe it will pass to the South.

The land is good.
The flowers are colorful;
The breeze is cool.
How long will I be allowed to stand here?
I see buildings in the distance.
Man is coming.
Why can't this, too, pass to the South.

But it will not.
The air will smell dirty.
The sun will turn dark;
The grass will turn hard.
The flowers will turn brown,
The breeze will turn cold.
I will soak this up for now, here in this field.
I see hills in the distance.
There is grass there.
Maybe I will pass to the South.

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