It is feeding time.  Time to push the hay
from the back of the truck.  Whistling,
calling for the cows to come up.

I see the morning mist among the cattle,
smell the scent of pine hanging in the crisp air,
in my heart and mind, I want to be there.

The forested pastures, the open grazing fields
wrap around my soul memorized comfort, where
I can reach out to touch and to feel.

As for me, that place will always be there,
yet, it is gone.  Gone for many a year.  All gone,
the pond dried, the forest overtook the fields.

Gone is the truck, the hay, the cattle too.
Yet, my memory is a place where all it lives on.
And memories turn my thoughts to you,
- as they always do;

Beautiful you.  You are gone, too.