Golden corn is in the breeze,
 cooing doves
and sound of leaves

Every horse is out to  run
leaving just an open gate

One  field, one lake 
where this body walks a while,

When the sky is filled with wings,
it is sitting straight

And the one with thirst for this
looks without
arriving at the opposite

In the centre
here She is

Flowers in the shade of trees,
so clear a stream
so close is peace

Alan