The Meadow

As a soft breeze blows, I stand ‘lone, in the midst of the tall grass.

The hills on both side of me rise until the tops reach the mountains.

Green leaves cocoon the tree.

Live and swift moves of the limbs make the glen feel alive.

This moment in time seems like an hour.

Its real look and feel makes this real, yet also a fake.

This place is where I am king.

I rule this glen, and it feels great.

Locked in time, where I don’t have to worry about anything.

Here is where I can go any time of the day.

This place sets the line between real life and paradise.

With its gold waves and green life, this is where I feel alive.

The melodic tale of the wind makes the grain move.

This is where the real magic happens.

No one can know, yet anyone can see.

What happens here is secret and in my own mind.

This is the meadow where I stand.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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