She walks through fields of lovely green,
So peaceful and serene.
She crosses streams on stepping stones.
She always walks alone.
She never speaks a single word,
That fragile little bird.
She simply walks her path each day,
Without a word to say.
Although she’ll never notice me,
I know tonight I’ll see
That lonely lady in my dream,
Crossing a lonely stream.
May 18, 1980
© 2010 – 2011, Steven R. Drennon. All rights reserved.