Through meadows where wildflowers spring, a symphony bursts forth in the sun. Colors dance beneath the wide sky, a canvas brushed with mother’s hand.

Here lies the pulse of nature’s heart, where all things converge in a bloom. Behold! The drama, so alive, woven by stir and quietude.

O to wander where children play, to weave lives tangled in laughter. Breathe deeply the warmth of the day, and love the earth that gives us life.

• Sara Teasdale