Walking through the meadows*

Going walking down that track
Through the meadows has no lack
Of sweet smell of flowers wild
Tossing their heads in the breeze of summer mild,

It is such a lovely sojourn
Walking down the field one morn
Watching the day upon the green quite
Drenching a soul with beauteous light,

Just then probably one feels life
Whispering tunes gay, beyond strife
That brings one closer to earth
Where nature creates images of Holy mirth.

(*Note: upon a painting loosely based as attached, done by Bonnie Morgan Hyde; courtesy: Keith Linwood Stover, Iulia Gherghei.)


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