There is a field

where golden wheat grows,

and a warm, gentle breeze blows.

this field lies not on the mortal realm,

neither is it of the gods,

but a simple spanse of quiet joy,

there for those who know it.

War cannot enter there,

nor sadness or greed.

Only those who wish to live,

honest and free,

may find a seat of honor.

The golden wheat does not belong to me,

nor to you,

or any other comers.

It is a field for all to see,

and feel,

and touch.

How can you own a feeling?

How can you own joy so pure?

I beg, take me unto that field

so that I may enjoy such bliss

as only golden wheat,

and a warm, gentle breeze

can give.