The Meadow

In the meadow’s wavy grass, Where the daisies gently sway, All the morning glories pass, In a dance of light, they play.

Each sweet thrill of nature’s breath, And the whispers of the breeze, Bring me thoughts of life and death, And the calm that ever frees.

Underneath the sky so vast, Every moment, dear and bright, Finds a solace in the past, And in season’s dark, the light.

• Thomas Woolner