The field of lost

And,

in the mind of those once lost

a far gone field
a ways across
which
were the low slung clouds to touch
would then we find a blocking mist

but still a bit
of golden sun
through clouds does ray
and down upon
the grass so grey
of winters sleep spun

here
and now
I cry a tear

remembering how
I lingered
there

And hope
once more
to cross the verge
clearly, clearly
guided.