I asked a meadow, what they loved of summer’s June-
a soak in the morning mist, or a sheen of the midnight moon;
soft chatter of birds, or confetti of butterflies at noon;
tip-tap of water on knotted brook, or lazy hay bales laid in a swoon?
As the sun melted into its fields and a golden glaze was poured,
the meadow smiled back at me and with pride its chest soared.
“Dear, if you must know, it is the everyday magic, I cherish, muse and hold",
with those words on a starry night in billowy breeze my meadow rolled.
Aside: Thanks so much for reading. Hope it didn't feel too baby-ish. I felt like rhyming today and doing something short, light and easy. Cheers! <3