Stead

In the quiet field where hedges sigh,
My stead lies firm beneath the sky.
Not where the restless lorries roar,
But where the gate has creaked before.

Here footprints fade in softened loam,
Yet hold the echo of home.
The old oak watches, stern and kind,
Where sheep have grazed and rain has lined
The furrowed earth with patient grace—
This place, this stead, holds time and space.

When storms may come and journeys start,
I know I carry in my heart
Not just the soil, the lane, the stile,
But all the worth of this small mile:
The milk-churn stand, the stile's worn stone,
The very breath I've always known.

So let the world spin wide and fast,
My stead is where true peace is cast—
Not fixed in ground, but deep and true:
I am kept safe, and I am kept for you.