Perhaps

Perhaps i will walk in the home fields again
And hear the birds sing in the wind and the rain
When the cattle out of sheds from months of living on silage and hay
On nutritious young grass are gaining weight by the day
And the swallows back home from Lands far away
For to breed and raise young for a seven months stay
On pursuit of flying insects they chirp as they fly
Above the old fields in the gray of the sky
And hear the familiar babble of the silver tongued rill
On it's way to the river from the field by the hill
For what used to be i have shed my last tears
And i have not seen the home fields for decades of years
But perhaps i will visit them again one day
If not in April then surely in May.