Maple trees- on golden grass she sang like a bird, the maiden of the golden fields- she moved through grass hands swinging lips cherry red against the azure sky. Her eyes were the bluest kind and her hair was gold- and she sang. Tis’ wasn’t a language I knew, nor was it a tune I had heard. but she sang and she sang, she sang for the birds, who flitted in trees faraway, and she sang for those who listened. Oh, and how I was, how I was. I stood there like a dumb fool and I saw her twirl around. Then as soon as she began - she stopped. And she danced away - the maiden of the golden fields. I say this now with a ache in my heart- oh I wish to hear that tune again. I long for those words which I can’t fathom to understand. The Maiden Of The Golden Fields.