The wheat wait first light, for only in the sunlight can it glow like gold
The sun is a symbol of permanence, if not absolute it is still more so
The wheat glows to grow, to ripen, to dry, to hope of being born again
Under the same sun, in a cycle of what I could call endless love
So if love shall visit my land, It would never ever be as golden sprawling wheat
It would be the sun, a being of light, a bringer of the endless cycle of my rebirth
For I have been the sun, I have glowed, yet I was not what the wheat wished for
I wish not to be the bringer of light, nor the being of warmth and all that life is
I will be wheat, plain golden wheat, that grows on greens, shimmering in the sunny winds
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