Walking on the Meadow
Walking on the meadow dotted red,
Flanders’ poppy — used to grieve the dead,
Sweeping daylight bathing rustic vistas,
Yielding summer bliss in rainbow glisters.
Air alive with luscious perfume wafting,
From the flowers, in the breezes lofting,
Gladdening my senses with such sweetness;
Here I know the semblance of completeness.
Blessed by nature’s providential kindness,
Days so bright as to deliver blindness,
In the wide inferno of God’s passion,
Woven in such picture perfect fashion.
I can sense the love within me rising,
Every speck of colour my heart prizing,
In this vast edenic hall of dreaming,
Under sunshine’s paradisic beaming…
ADL
adamdaniel 