What would these fields be
without the earth below them
and the skies so high above,
with the path as their faithful companion
and these wise, old summer trees?
Would these fields still tell their stories
if the winds weren’t whispering along,
and would they give us food
if we didn’t ever come by?
What would they mean to me, these fields,
in their soft and tender sway
if I’d never trod their ways
with you here by my side?