It is the wheatfields that keep coming back,
always sticking out behind the pines,
beyond the mountains,
in the sunsets.

Nostalgia of clear light
and greyhounds of long shadows.

Those memories chasing me
smell of dry soil recovering life,
wheat in the springtime,
fidelity to plains.

Luis Gil de la Puente

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/1-nostalgia-of-the-plains/