Would that I could sit within, a field wide with green,
And listen there, to tales old, of battles broad and lean.

Of family slain, too young to fall, the earth beneath them torn,
Then weary days, when thirst denied, the brown upon them born.

When finally rivers respite shown from skyward happy fell,
From winged ally seeds do drop; an answer to the spell.

This simple place they call their home, ten thousand in their might,
They roam the day, to feed their own, and vanish in the night.

And those that stand above them all, their heads held proud and high,
Will dance and sway and bend and wave, but ne’er do break and die.

Now dragons fly and grass does hop, and butter shows its eyes,
Then tiny tank he lifts his flanks into the wind he flies.

As many lessons can be read, within this field of green,
If only eyes were opened wide, upon it’s humble scene.

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