The Four

I walk through glowing green fields
the grass is damp and the earth yields,
soft and uncertain like a newborn deer
tottering, bounding, now leaping with glee
bold and lively, prancing without fear
Ah, what a pleasure this is to see!
I walk under the baking sun
my breaths are deep, and my sweat runs
the earth is firm like a ripe plum
sweet and juicy and tart on my tongue
thunder rolls and grumbles like a drum
See how the August skies have sung!
I walk through forests dark and deep
the wind whips my face and makes me weep
the breeze swirls all the rusty leaves
which snap and crumble beneath my feet
like all the things you once believed
Aye, see how the wind scatters those empty sheets!
I trudge the icy rocks and snow
the sun is faint like the dying glow
of a fire fading as it grows old
and the embers fade to blackened coal
as my bones crack in this icy cold
Lord, its clammy claws spear my soul!



and then I awake in those glowing fields
and feel that soft earth as it yields
. . . I use this memory as my shield.