I saw it like a fantasy across a sun claimed sky;
The trees there bore the memories, but I do not know why.
And had I just one moment left to consider fields of rye,
I would have understood the notion, and thus began to cry.
But alas, I drove on past and never said goodbye;
Yet I still feel it like a mystery of gently woven lies.
I never knew the truth until my severed ties,
Cut the chord of so much more than histories surprise.
Because I will never see again the mist of the sunrise;
And I shall never hear the whispers of the trees as they sway by.
For they are gone and all their love is a hidden alibi,
For the one who mourns a dream so lost and can only cry and cry.