When days of forgiveness and grace would come,
And you'll walk in the field, and you walk as an innocent traveler,
And your bare feet shall caress the burclover leaves,
And wheat stalks shall prick you and their prickling are sweet.
And the rain will catch up to you with its rapid drops
Upon your shoulder, your breast, your neck and your head.
And you'll walk in the wet field and the silence shall spread
Like the light at the edge of a cloud.
And you'll breathe in the scent of the furrow, calm and even,
And you'll see the sun in the puddle's golden mirror,
And simple are the things and a live, and you may touch them,
And you may, and you may love.
You shall walk in the field, alone. You will not be burnt
by the fires, on roads that bristled from terror and blood.
And with integrity at heart you'll again be humble and surrendered
As one of the grass, as one of the mortals.
