I miss a place I used to go,
A meadow, sweet, and lost in time,
Hot in June,
Warm in Fall,
Enchanted in December…
And delightful in May.
But I moved from my small town,
Many years ago,
And at first,
In all the excitement,
My meadow left my mind.
Except in dreams, sometimes,
It must have touched me,
As I would wake up hurting in my heart.
With the scent of wild clover in the room.
And I was puzzled..
I know now it was my meadow,
My lost flower-jungle meadow,
Calling me.
Touching me,
As I slept..
Saying to me,
Come home.
Bring your bare feet and thermos of tea,
Just be meadowsweet,

by Donna Earle