Barbara Haskell

Rookie (March 6,1952 / tulsa, ok.)

Meadow - Poem by Barbara Haskell

Walking through a meadow, where the breeze does gently blow,
my eyes take in the beauty of flowers where they grow.
I catch a glimpse of a graceful doe
and high over-head soars a jet black crow.
The meadow embodies many shades of green,
striking hues, as if in a beautiful dream.
Crisp and clean is the air,
this meadow has a beauty I want to share.
Clouds above, a magnificient sight,
seem close enough to touch with a kite.
Enormous clouds, all billowy,
I think a cloud I'd like to be,
light as cotton candy,
vast and floating free.
Past the meadow are the trees,
home to birds, squirrels and bees.
As I look down I see,
a carpet made of fallen leaves.
I do so love the meadow,
God's wondrous place to go,
forgetting any of my woes,
I put pen to paper, writing prose.

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Robert Frost

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening



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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Poem Edited: Friday, April 15, 2011


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