Words from the Sheep Meadow

I wake to find this place I did not seek--
Existence proves itself among these lands.
The sting of winter's wind upon my cheek
The longing of this page between my hands.
The cynic in me laughs-- it sees me found
Romantic, on this dreary sunless day.
Perhaps it's mem'ry's spell in which I'm bound
Without the skill to find the words I'd say...
Across a distant sea I would behold
This lonely tree and find my heart content.
But here within this rolling meadow's fold
My heart, my mind, my hands this message sent:
Though 'cross Atlantic's grey this land might seem
It breathes without me now as though I dream.