In The Meadow Poem by Star Dust

Falling down,
To lie across the meadow’s forgotten glory,
Crossed legs, gentle fingers,
As I gaze at the lines,
Lines that have been creased in a balmy petal,
Life crawling, unaware of a pare of eyes staring,
Stiff stems, non-seeable thorns,
In the blaze of aurora,
Not heard, not seen,
But lingering still,
An azoic trunk,
With elliptical colors,
And dew at fusion point,
A fruit, it drops,
Startling me,
My breath is heard,
By only the wind,
As it captures it in a rush,
Whipping by in mischief,
Never to be heard again.