Beneath a sky that shifts in colors, The fields tell stories of their making, Grass blades dance in laughter and pain— Their empire cradled in ancient dirt.

Clouds scatter in fleeting softness, While shadows of trees stretch long, Reaching for the sun’s tender embrace, As silence settles like dust on hopes.

And in the distance, a brook hums, Its gentle murmur, a womb’s echo, On the banks, wildflowers bloom, Delicate as whispered secrets to the air.

• Stephen Spender