Through Fields of Heather

by Mary Wacaster







In the spring’s pleasant weather
Life seems young and free
As we trip along beside the sea,
Laughing and singing joyfully;
Through the fields of Heather.
And where the flowers grow
Fragrant in the summer's glow,
Hand in hand we go.
Slowly onward each step we take,
When seasons turn to Fall
We hear the geese's high call
As they flee from winter's pall.
Lying still in winter's wake
Memory wakens dreams within
While the cocoon of life we spin,
Waiting for new spring again.