The Field Is Faltering by John Garmon

I can barely make it out
My vision is getting bad
I’m a ghost in a cloud
The wheat is waving vaguely
The sun is dimly warm
The field is swaying
I think it is calling to me
To come and play the games
I played
When my sight was good
Every stalk is faltering
The golden heads are blowing
My sight advances stealthily
I want to make the faltering
Stop and wait for me

©2016 John Garmon

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