The misty firmament above in the hours before the rising sun,
Swirls patterns deeply etched into the grey sky,
Windy realm of night with its soaring echoes,
A play of wind, clouds and dancing moonlight,
The spirits of the ages play, spread across the invincible night,
They play unseen, yet fill the Arcadian meadows with their presence,
To the wind, they vow a burning promise,
To the night, their unquenchable energies,
In the windy sea sky, adrift with misty cloud schooners,
The season of the Solstice sweeps her glowing gown,
Drawn by oceanic breezes,
Her midnight tempest spawns vaporous clouds across the gloomy moors,
Her Druid song haunting the moonlit fields,
This swirling mirth of darkness strips the tired senses spellbound in these seasons of the night.

No sickle bar churns
repetitiously clanging two notes
while grasshoppers and field mice
scurry to survive the blade

Now yellow bulldozers with humongous tires
roar like thunder in a rainstorm and
scrape away black loam leaving
clay as red as fresh beets

There is no funeral for the hay meadow
that is dead and put to rest
without a tombstone

"you cannot catch a wildflower"
       he says.
             "you are my wildflower."

I am lost inside myself
my personal paradise
my own euphoric insanity
could i be as manic as I sometimes believe
to feel as if my soul lives in the earth beneath my feet
and stretches from the root of every tree to the tips of their leaves
exhaling me into the sky to float with the wind from meadow to meadow
I stand with arms stretched
spinning in circles like a tiny tornado
grazing the tips of each blade of grass with my fingertips
dancing with my pointed toes upon dewy petals
breathing in the heavens of the earth
feeling as if the sun was shining from within me
my world could not exist without this insatiable lust for life
you cannot hold me and shelter me under the dark roof you flourish in
I am a wildflower
I need the meadows, the sky, the sun, the air, the freedom