The Field

April 18, 2009
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They sat on the crowded field,
The light bouncing off the grass, the dew drops glistening,
The heat was pleasant, coming down in shafts through the trees
A child turned on the sprinkler, water flying in the light breeze
It splattered, and butterflies flew out of the way,
And the rainbow fell, on a patch of clover

She walked towards the patch of clover,
Then sat on the field, leaning
Over the grass, breathing in the scent of new growth,
The shade from the trees almost reached them,
The Child laughed, lying on her back
Giggling in delight, at the swarming butterflies.

The butterflies,
Kissing the lips of the clover,
Dancing a light waltz with the field,
The grass plays the melody, swinging
The trees the harmony, providing a steady beat of swaying
Where the child lay in the moving shadows.

The girl replied, her child like steps countered
With the butterflies, them flying
Over the clover tops
She remained lying, splayed over the field.
And suddenly the grass stopped, the tune dropped
And the trees began to whisper.

As the trees talked, the wind picked up
And the childs hair flew
Faster, seamlessly solid, unlike the butterflies
The clovers retracted, curling up,
Into the massive field.
And the grass, crinkled into the ground.

The grass, so young, so small
Compared to the tall withered trees.
The child, also young, frowned to the sky.
The butterflies ran, escaping into the brush
The clovers, hiding, waiting for the wind
The rain, the tumultuous mud, that would overtake, the small field.

The flora the fauna, of the field of grass
The trees, acting as a shelter for the child
And once more, the storm passed; the butterflies led the parade with clover

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