Walking, my feet are sore
As I walk up a small dirt hill.
Nebraska, the land of agriculture
And of scenery.
I am on top of the hill
I look out in the distance
And see a sinking sunset
Birds chirping loudly
The wheat is now still on the ground
Golden, and soft
Like a bed
I want to plop down on and sleep
A sinking fireplace
Under the horizon
Warm and comforting
Now turns to cold and unwelcoming
Smells surrounding me
Like a lion on a deer
Fresh and clean
Calming and soothing
Grasses from the cold months
Is now sprouting
Up from the soil
Green and bright
The sky is now a rainbow
Full of blues, pinks, oranges
Various hues of reds
Making the wheat now a light show.
The sun is now sinking
Deep under the horizon
The sky now black
Full of sparkling stars
I bid a goodnight
To the fields
And to the wheat
And the dazzling sun now gone to sleep
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