The Field

Knee-deep in autumn wheat
I stopped, but you went on.
Held back by the past
Afraid of the future,
I almost let you go…

‘Come on, Sam!’
You said, but gently,
Always braver than me.
A comforting arm
Drawing me to the dark.

The fields, washed
In golden light,
Were dear to me
But you had bid farewell
Already, I could see.

Had I gone home,
What then? A peaceful life
Not torn by distant war.
Word now and then
Of my lost, mad master.

‘Come on, Sam..’
I wanted to run back
To never leave, but there
With him my sorrow lay
And all my life as well.
- Varda