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Nostalgia

[Nostalgia] At the eastern edge of the wide fields, A winding brook tells tales of old, A dappled ox lowing lazily in gold sunlight, There lies the place I can never forget. When ashes cool in the hearth, Night winds stir the fields as horses run, And my aged father, weary and thin, Rests upon a straw pillow, There lies the place I can never forget. My heart, grown from the soil, Longs for the blue of the sky, Searching for arrows carelessly shot, Among dewy grasses it flickers, There lies the place I can never forget. A young sister dances like the night waves, A barefoot wife gathering grain in the harsh sun, Black hair flowing in the legend sea breeze, There lies the place I can never forget. Sparse stars above, Walking unknowable sandcastles, Crows calling over frost-laden roofs, Sitting by dim lights, whispering tales, There lies the place I can never forget.