On that coldest day in December
we followed our breath to the field.
The winter wheat stood against the wind.
 
There among the pine trees,
where green holds fast,
we laid our dreams to rest,
let them turn the blue of perfect ice.
 
The whole expanse of sky
succumbed to sorrow and questions.
 
 
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XDs_m7_jF9U