Crop Circle

Cool and sweet, My naked feet Found dewy pathways through the wheat; And out again Where down the lane, The dust was dimpled with the rain. But in the lay, I heard them say; All quivering With life, death and love; A sound so dear, The message clear; "Be the phoenix not the dove". My head was leant, Where, with it bent, A photographer over her instrument; While all the night, From vale to height, Was filled with orbs in flight! And all our dreams Were lit with gleams Of Alien delight.