The Maiden of the Wheat Fields
Two decades have passed now;
I walked over the plaintive grass, clumsy steps
But proud to be guarding my sacred vow.
A tale like so many, burried beneath the ocean depths.
A wounded and thirsty soldier once that I was,
Was walking past these golden fields post war.
A maiden I beheld, which seemingly gave her a pause
And she instantly knew what I was looking for.
Young and soft and pale, the maiden fair;
What was prettier: she or the London countryside?
With the wind wavering her red scarfed hair,
And exposing the wheat which resisted as coyly as a bride.
She offered some water to my beastly self
With a glance so indifferent and yet so kind,
And took me to her hut like a magical fairy or an Elf,
And sang me a lullaby for slumber to bind.
I wondered how she would look now,
Wrinkled or youthful or a mixture of both…
Kept waiting outside the shanty, to hear crows,
And more crows but not the voice that once sang me to sothe.
I knew not what would have happened to her,
The thought of it stiffened me with intense pain
Maybe the floods took her or the epidemic or the war
Riding on my horse, I pledged this time, never to return again.
Set in the backdrop of the countryside England of an ancient age, the narrator reminiscences his past encounter with a maiden whom he couldn’t forget even after two decades. At some point of our lives, we all come across certain people, who leave a forever mark in our memories, irrespective of the amount of time we spend with them.