In the flowering fields of May
I will walk upon the hills,
and breathe again the early summer air.
And in gratitude I’ll taste
the fragrance of the land,
and enjoy the simple fact that I am there.
For Springs and Summers fly
with the passing of the years.
A month seems like a day; a year, a week.
So with some smug satisfaction,
I will rest in laurel groves,
in contentment, that there’s nothing, I would seek.
The experiences of life
hold great mystery; and the spice,
of curiosities, inflame desire.
But the anti climax law
worms through every seed we sow,
and the borne fruit, seldom is, what we require.
So in the bright Maytime
I will look on England’s glory,
as she carefully puts on Her Summer dress.
As I watch the months and years
fly away with all my fears.
I will ponder on the things that I may bless.
