In the fields at sunrise, where the dew meets the day,
I wander through the shadows, chasing dreams that drift away.
The world is softly waking, as the colors come to bloom,
Each blade of grass a whisper, in this quiet morning room.
The stories that I gather, like the petals on the breeze,
Are woven in the silence, carried far by gentle trees.
With every step I'm taking, beneath the sprawling skies,
I find a piece of magic where the heartache gently lies.
The sun will climb the heavens, painting gold on fields of green,
And I will roam these pathways, where my spirit's always been.
With the soft wind as my compass, I’ll follow where it leads,
Through the echoes of the ages, past the flowing, timeless reeds.
Each journey tells a tale, in the patterns we can’t see,
In the dancing of the wildflowers, and the hum of honeybees.
I’ll take my time and listen, to the stories that unfold,
In the sunlight's warm embrace, in the warmth of tales retold.
And when the day is fading, into dusk with dreams anew,
I'll carry all my wanderings, like the stars in skies so blue.
For every quiet moment, every rise and fall of sighs,
Is a chapter of my journey, written under endless skies.
As I lay down my burdens, on this well-trodden ground,
I know that in these fields of peace, my heart has surely found,
A place to rest my spirit, where the sunrise paints the day,
In the fields at sunrise, I will always find my way.
Folk
fields, sunrise, wandering, quiet, story