The Green Summer Glare
In those great fields of the summer
The dense steam flows over the green glare
There we stumbled into some furrows
That hadn't been plowed in a hundred years
And their iron gates had rusted shut
Holding in the rusted truck
There we found pure springs
Flowing up to clearings
And a lake drained low
Filled with the bones
Of a different world
We carved them out carefully
To catalog each one
I always remember how they stood
In broken rows of broken stones
Their iron gates had rusted shut
Holding in the rusted truck
Their old deliberations we couldn't scan
We couldn't read what had gone wrong
Except that life dried up
Their iron gates had rusted shut
Holding in the rusted truck
I always remember how their bones
Stood in broken rows of broken stones
Autor(es): William Mericle
