Field of Dreams Beyond the Vale

There lies in life a field of dreams; there is such a bounty to choose from.

The hills rise up in the morning light; we gather our buttercups, yellow-gold staining our fingers.

Everywhere, there is clover, an incense we know is fleeting; the bees know too, and are quick to pass clover to clover, before day is done.

There is morning and evening; the field is constantly changing from dawn to dusk.

Odd, the light is focused at times almost like a beacon; we find our places in the field, gathering armfuls of delicate flowers.

It is not a heavy load to carry; the dreams carry us, the morning mist a kiss upon our cheek.

The blossoms of a lifetime are pressed upon our souls, a blissful yellow-gold; light infuses everything with a touch of heavenly grace.

A glorious field awaits beyond the vale, as far as the eye can see; there lies a field of dreams at the break of an everlasting dawn.

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