The Fields of Sleep


I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,

The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,

And all the earth is gay

"The daisies are very pretty and I placed them on the breakfast table," said the elderly woman reappearing at the front doorway with a tray of shortbread cookies and a glass of milk.

"You are welcome, ma'am," the small girl said shyly.

"There is no need to be bashful with me, Agnes," the old woman said. "I remember you."





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)