Mellow meadows, shimmering in summers heat,
dipping down the valley,
rolling down the steep
What a delightful and pleasurable treat,
to sit and ponder,
your feet deep amongst the wild flowers,
where drones the sweet bees,
collecting nectar, an endless toil,
as they leap from bloom to bloom.
Then with collecting complete
bodies heavy but content.
And eyes sweep the distant scene,
through a haze of wheat.
A drowsy afternoon,
renewing memories to keep,
and maybe too,
some fresh memories to greet.
© Ernestine Northover
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem