in a field of long grass,
bronzed by the gold's of the sun,
the wildflowers grow,
far from the blue mists of the sea,

dark root and thundering air,
the hawthorns blossom silently
they are everywhere, white clouds
like drops of moon against the sky

as if the lonely dance of the skies
was a heart-beat, was your love,
as if the sky could not be more beautiful
with the sun, the wildflowers and your love.