O, the golden fields calling me,
The fields inviting me to run through them.
The newly cropped fields with their neigbor,
A lake of lilac.
Smelling of a fresh summer morning.

I shall sprint through you,
Singing at the top of my lungs,
Until I reach the shadow mountains on the other side,

I shall climb your sparse trees,
Swing from the larger ones,
And hug the smallers.

And I shall gaze into the depths of the lake a-near.
Its stiff surface lazily swaying
Glimmering like the most precious gem of them all.

And when I tire late at afternoon,
I shall, content, watch the clouds above you,
Against a backdrop of azure blue.