The Song of the Open Fields

The amber spill of evening light
descends upon the weathered sill,
where swallows trace the quiet skies
across the golden plains, until

the dusk enfolds the furrowed earth
and ancient banyans whisper low.
A lantern flickers in the breeze,
a timeless, gentle, patient glow.

Here by the hearth and riverbanks,
the spirit of the homeland breathes,
in woven verses, honest songs,
and whispers of the autumn leaves.