Find a Song in That Field

[couchgrouch]

Find a Song in That FieldI was sitting with my notepad, whittling dreams awaybut songs were slow in coming, so I reached for some Rose`cos I've seen creation, doesn't always mean designsome days it's a meeting, of madness and winethen the window caught my eye, and I left that bottle sealedand I went outside hoping, to find a song in that fieldthey say that gold dust doesn't, look much diff'rent than dirtpriceless rhymes might be hiding, in the red, muddy earthand I saw a golden poppy, like sunrise on a stembut sometimes truth and beauty, can't be captured with a penso I walked through wheat and cornrows, searching for a deeper yieldsomewhere in the soil and pebbles, I'd find a song in that fieldfor without inspiration, a writer's only dustthen in his day of dying, it's simple to adjustI once thought rhymes and reasons, grew from planted seedsbut lately crows of self-doubt, have strongly disagreedso I looked for something random, to help my pen be healedtrying to force my spirit, to find a song in that fieldthen I fin'lly saw clearly, my song was the search itselfall inspiration springs from, Something higher...Someone elsethen my barren pen could rhyme, the riches on that poppy's stemI'd found where songs were hiding, returning with a hymnnow when prayers and music, refuse to be revealedI walk out in the morning, to find a song in that field(c)2006 Robert George