A Walk Through the Meadow

It’s the rushing of water,

The rustling of leaves,

The pit-pat of raindrops,

The rumble of clouds.

It isn't so loud

As I walk through the crops.

A cold startle from the eaves

Merges into wastewater.

It is peaceful

Seeing beaded spiderwebs,

The silk rebounding with every drip.

I find a clover – a three-leaf –

Of faith, hope, and love.

Sheltering it a chrysanth,

Dancing in the wind above.