Field of Poppies, by Vincent van Gogh
Lord, the great cities are lost and rotting.
Their time is running out. . . .
The people there live harsh and heavy,
crowded together, weary of their own routines.
Beyond them waits and breathes your earth,
but where they are it cannot reach them.
They don't know that somewhere
wind is blowing through a field of flowers.
From the Book of Hours III, 4/5
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