I run through my field—
Weeds longer than my Eyes can see above—
Hiding the Path in which Life wants me to take—
Hale—rooted in its Dream
The Hourglass of Idea—
Evacuating to soul—
And evaporating from Mind
The Clock of our Angels —
The Flowers—the variety—
For our Generations—time—
The speeding of my feet through my Field
To find the End—