The Meadow Beckons
The meadow beckons to a meandering day.
She follows in its carefree lead.
As goes and blows the breeze at hand, so goes the dancing hay.
Wild are flowers, tossing beauty to the breeze.
Her glance she casts to venues new.
As goes and flows the languid seed, so goes her path with ease.
The grass may bend to the will of winds, but the grass to itself be true.
Woman’s growth stems from her field of dreams.
As goes and grows the tender root, so goes her day anew.