The meadows in our minds
are the soft places wrapped in trees,
they’re our birthright in vista
sinking deeper in the green.
Waters flowing unseen, but heard,
that’s our souls set free,
clouds cast silhouette before our eyes,
and a flock singing joy to thee.
The nature that was once everywhere
exists now only because we make it so,
but turn our gaze or lower our guard
and it becomes a treasure our children’s children never know.
©August 2015, Christina Anne Hawthorne