In the meadow,
The asters bloom,
Waving in September's wind,
Visited by migrating monarchs,
And hungry, patient bees.
The meadow is home to chi-ing crickets,
Peaceful in the sun;
God’s grace given by the Son,
A feast of feeling, sight and sound.
And landing here upon my hand,
A beautiful, black, red-winged beetle,
Trusting me,
As I trust

God’s gentle love of me.

Cy, Sept. 27, 2006