John W. Fox
Fields green and fresh… nature is ever at work.
Slender stalks of growing things.
A sky over head, the good earth below
Far away… no street sounds, no smog, no campus riots.
Nothing to remind you of the present, past, or future, except for the now
And then sounds of a bullet passing close overhead on its way to a target.
How I long for home.
©Copyright February 18, 1971 by John W. Fox