Elysium Fields

The fire green as grass
Down the rivers of the windfall light
Danced gracefully in the pale moonlight
Of the forgotten land.

Time passes by so slowly
In the land of the mourned.
Measured only by the silent swaying of the reeds,
And the whistle of the wind in the willows.

In the fields of eternal spring
Where night is day, hate has no meaning
And prejudice is merely a word,
The mist of our sins, evaporated by the lustrous sun.

Where life ends and eternity begins,
Where a little girl in a pale dress
Dances among the reeds to the silence,
pending the coming dawn of another day in perpetuity.