I am breathing in the air
in the midst of winter's day
the shades of the yellow sun
glares my eyes like fray
It miles away in open
long weed grass at my feet
the chill which contradicts
the weather so it seems
No feast at the end of view
a lonely highway pass
no fussing behind my back
such serene and quiet casts
A scene of repetition
a color that only fades
so sparse are the attractions
so focused are the working days
To live on the path of the church
the schedule that fills the night
the gathering of the people
for its the only thing seems right
But treasures are found at home
companions around the fire
but vast in open fields
God's deep mysterious desires
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