Through The Mist

Standing in the feild,
Waist deep in grain,
"Where could she be?"
Askes my brain.

Mist in front,
And to each side,
Continueing my search with grunt,
I can hear the tide.

There she stands,
Only me between her and the sound,
Of the bay playing like one of many bands,
her eyes glued to the ground.

The bay's tune,
Has captured her mind,
Headed for the sandy dune,
She knows what she will find.

Passing me,
On her way,
Smiling with glee,
When she reaches the bay.

The field of grain,
Long forgotten now,
We listen and forget our pain,
As the bay stops and takes a bow.