The Meadow

I. In the quiet hour of dawn, Where the dew bespeaks the morn; I wander through the blades of grass, Lost in thoughts of hours that pass.

II. The wild flowers dance along the street, As the sun begins to beat; Among each blossom sweetly blooms, The richness of the wild perfume.

III. Then new life awakens tenderly, Crickets chirp in ecstasy; As I watch, my heart expands, For all nature truly understands.

• Robert Buchanan