Give me a great, windswept field,
Green as Spring,
Shining with a golden exuberance of dandelions,
And drenched in the baptism of sweet morning.
This is where I will rise
On the day past time
And awaken to that bright day
When everything left of winter
Finally will be shed.
I will lie there for a minute,
Looking up at the sweeping arc
Of a million birds circling the sun,
Feeling the flowers tremble
Between my fingers,
And smile,
Savoring resurrection.
--Timothy Haut