by Vaughn Neeld
after a line from a poem by Emily Brontë

Mist arises from my garden
to reveal a scene of dappled fields
of fresh, green grass and dew-steeped flowers
that shyly nod in hazy light
of early morning sun.

I could collect a fragrant bunch
to grace my table at our lunch,
but why would I when here within
this bountiful field is where they began?

I caress each face, touch them gently,
these gifts of Nature's bounty.
They sweetly sway to inner music.
I linger long among their glory.
I thank them for their smiling welcome

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