Meadow Evening

Hovering above the wildflowers,
And near the clover at my feet.
Moonlight falls upon the tall grasses,
Moonbeams streaming through the ancient oak.
Only the little faces of the forget-me-nots
Are alert and curious,
Only the fox, weaving through the meadow,
Rustles the leaves and breaks the patterned silence
Like ripples spreading from a stone cast into still water.
Then you arrive,
Quiet like the meadow,
Soft like the clover blooms,
And beautiful as the silent glow of the starlight.