Lay them down in the fields of sweet barley and rye,

Let them pause just a bit till they’re ready to fly,

Don’t bend over them, don’t morn, don’t weep,

Don’t disturb their rest, let them sleep, let them sleep.

They will gather their strength, and together they’ll rise,

All like one they’ll take flight to the still paradise,

Where the children await, where the wives of their own

They’ll embrace at the gate, where the fields lie unmown.


Sasha A. Palmer