The Edge of My Wheat Field
© by Rob Brenckman
Here at the edge of my golden grass field I watch the breeze wistfully play
The grass plays too in joyful dance as the field of blades bend and sway
Pushed by the winds it sings gently in tune the praise of a warm summer day
The kind dry air runs across the top of the wheat dancing and twisting around
I envy its place and wish I could be like the wind, forever unbound
Gusting and bouncing and tumbling in, bending tall grass to the ground.