Sometimes I dream I'm flying
just above the plain—
the world in wheat beneath me,
the rivers rich with rain.
And there I hear the murmur
of what the old land knows:
all journeys need an ending,
all circles want to close.
Sometimes I dream I'm flying
just above the plain—
the world in wheat beneath me,
the rivers rich with rain.
And there I hear the murmur
of what the old land knows:
all journeys need an ending,
all circles want to close.