The Virgin Meadow Poem by Sarah Persson

The meadow holds flowers with none quite the same,
And each is indifferent and wild without shame,
Each holds itself lighter and taller in frame
And each speaks for itself, yet is called, not a name.

No matter how hard the wind blows they holds tight,
Roots gripping the soil, grapples hard with all might
Each petal blasts colour into skies subtle breeze,
Calling out for the yellow and black jacket bees.

Each swirl of the wind makes them dance with delight,
Each leaf starts conducting in orchestral flight
The rustle grows louder as the wind reaches high
And then gently the sway almost breathes a deep sigh.

Embellish this land with the whispers of scent
And furnish each surface in the way it was meant,
Let the eyes of our children reflect peace and grace,
Let them cheer and be blessed with the humblest of face.