The meadow,

Strong with the

scent of new hay.

I climb the

stone wall,


My hair flies wild,

Like whispering

wind in the summer.

The green,

leafy hay

Tickles my hard

calloused feet.

My breath is gone.

I sit on a rock by

my friend,

a brook.

The cool fresh water

Refreshes my hot

tired feet.

I dream.

My childhood

comes back.

The singing of

the trees,

The scent of the


My meadow.