Green Fields

Green fields where I walked when I was young man, in these
Green fields where I plowed as a farmer, in these
Green fields where I fought when I was a soldier in these green fields
Coat of arms and a man with flowers
Pink and smooth against the snow
Top floor of the building rent is cheap and the stove’s included
A chimney black and bricks of brown sternly standing in the fog
Monday noon but could be Tuesday fields never know the difference
Now I’m dreaming about Normandy
Now I’m remembering the fields I knew
Peering through the dusty slats at anything I care to see
Six floors up and all is well, as well expected to be The man with flowers straightens the little room that he calls home
Pots and pans hang on the wall and wait to be abused by him
Now I’m dreaming about bombs and blood
Now I’m remembering the things I did
Green the windows far away
A mile or two I’d dare to guess
A banker or insurance man would know the meaning of this outrage
Beds of asphalt sheets of clay and all the things that go with wisdom
Coat of arms and the man with flowers plays his bagpipes in the dark
Now I’m dreaming of St. Christopher
Now I’m remembering a summer morning