Meadow

Walking through a meadow, where the breeze does gently blow,

my eyes take in the beauty of flowers, where they grow.

I catch a glimpse of a graceful doe

and high overhead soars a jet-black crow.

 

The meadow embodies many shades of green,

striking hues, as if in a beautiful dream.

Crisp and clean is the air,

this meadow has a beauty I want to share.

 

Clouds above, a magnificent sight,

they seem close enough to touch with a kite.

Enormous clouds, all billowy;

I think a cloud I'd like to be,

light as cotton candy, vast and floating free.

 

Past the meadow are the trees,

home to birds, squirrels and bees.

As I look down I see,

a carpet, made of fallen leaves.

 

I do so love the meadow,

God's wondrous place to go.

Forgetting any of my woes,

I put pen to paper, writing prose.

 

01/30/02

 

Reviews

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This is very pleasant and dreamy. You take the reader to a beautiful place. I really like to think of the clouds being so close. Your poem is so pretty and thank you for taking me to a beautiful place with your words.