She walks alone in auburn light and grace,

A ****** marking painted on her face.

She breaks the gaze upon the somber view,

A lonely figure bathed in golden hue.

The field of grain that slumbers under sky,

it stretches wide, a rolling sea of rye.

Beneath the dripping stars her body sinks,

A soft bed in the dust, her lust, it drinks.

It thirsts on blackened sky and heavy silence,

Her heart, it churns and yearns with such a violence.

The coyotes sing her soundly to her sleep,

She leaves her dreams in seas of rye to keep.