Back To The Meadow

Oh, how I miss those childhood days,
Where oft on lazy summer days,
I wandered through the colours,
Picking daisies as I passed,
Counting petals, one by one,
The last one sighing, "We are done—
He loves me not, alas!"

Meet me in the meadow,
Where the nodding daisies dance,
Where the butterflies and buzzing bees,
Dodge around the watchful trees,
Soaring now above the tips
Of those snow-white landing strips,
Endowed with elegance;

Meet me in the meadow,
When the morning dew has past,
And all the flowers have been infused
With moisture dropped in rainbow hues;
When buttercups and clover sweet
Greet my touch and heed my feet,
That move along too fast;

Meet me in the meadow
And bring your cares along,
Let them come into perspective,
They are only an elective,
Let childhood joy replace your care,
Let nature's scents flow through your hair,
And healing memories be strong.
Edie Batstone