The Meadow’s Song (A Rough Translation)
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In the clearing by the woodland’s edge, my pretty flowers grow, tickling the toes and noses of the critters who come and go.
The honeybees dart and the wee birds sing, and no one knows but me.
Yet our song is so sweet and the fragrance so lush that I cannot help but believe that the whole earth is a gladder place for our petals and tiny green leaves.
In the morning, how we sparkle as the sun lights the shining dew. Then the afternoon light comes to touch us with its lovely golden hue.
And all through the night, we sing with the stars, so glad are we that this corner of earth is so blessed and lovely and ours.
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