A drive through the country to soothe the mind
An emerald field is a sight for sore eyes
Picture the pose of the figure underneath
Shoulders and hips draped in green

The manor on high, painted white
The glory of man and the model of life
Every tree hides a cloud of trembling cicadas
The invisible crowd
But one honeyed chirp of a cricket in the grass
Cuts through the blast

These fields stoke desire
I’m full to the throat but begging for more
Drinking the air that rolls off the pasture
Scent of sweetgrass and blood in the soil