The Maiden Of The Golden Fields…

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.

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