Wildflowers

In fields where the wildflowers grow,
Their colors dance in the sun’s warm glow;
Like painter’s strokes on canvas vast,
Every bloom tells a story of summer’s past.

They sway with grace in the gentle breeze,
Whispering tales to the wandering bees;
Their fragrance lingers in the afternoon,
A symphony played to the soft-spoken tune.

Each petal a wish, each leaf a dream,
In the tapestry woven by nature’s seam;
So let us walk where the wild things roam,
For in their presence, we find our home.

• E J Brady