A caring hand took my own tenderly at first

Eyes, soft, shining green like moss with dew gave mine rest

The moments of abandon were real and a lightness flew

Past the face from the fields to the pounding restless heart within

But slowly the comfort silence grew loathe

It spurned away in fear without more

I dream. I dream still of the shade from the sun.

I am ready to rest.

The Fields, continued - The Courage of Intimacy by Keith Ainsworth                                                                                                                                                    40