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.