the field

Here blue Chicory flowers,
there, fragrant Yarrow,
Wood Sorrel, Chamomile and Queen Anne's Lace

Above, blue sky
with white fluffy clouds passing over leaving shadows on the grass

Timothy, wild oats--tall stems 
that together roll like waves in the swift summer breeze

I gaze at each.
In another corner, a home once stood, fallen in now, 
or burned out

Opposite from there, a dead tree
Over in the middle just several paces,
I cross a bed of moss growing green and soft

Scattered everwhere are
Brown-eyed Susans
and Burdock

Black Raspberry canes grow in clusters
A row of Silver Maple trees
stand guard along the edge

As I walk through this field 
of your personality,
there is much that intrigues me.

 P F. Hilliard