This was a poem Austin wrote 2001 or 2002.
I can only imagine what type of fields he sees and plays in now.
The Field
Leaves on the trees fall and flow.
Grass in the field as green as British moss.
The creek right beside flows.
Fish swim
like a person that is laying on a raft.
with no worry, no care in the world.
I sit on the ground.
Animals walk by like I am not there.
The dog barks
like lions roaring.
The birds chirp
like a whistle.
Walking in the path in the field
made by cows and our horse.
The only time I go
is when I am
mad or when I want
to be alone.
I sit where no one can see me.
I love that grassy field.
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