Leaning over the gate – watching the whispering grass
Waving in the easterly breeze in a solemn mass,
Seeing the bumblebee floating from clover to clover,
Pollenating each flower, doing its daily task.

The cattle in the meadow, chewing as they lie,
The last of tail is frequent to disturb the hungry fly,
The trees display their foliage – bisecting the rays of sun,
The stream its waters shallow, a little shower runs.

The whin and hawthorn green garnished with their bloom,
Gives sweet fragrance to the air,
A deeper breath – a silent thought,
A little thankful prayer.

Leaning over the gate – I see the sheep upon the hill,
Their winter coats discarded a duty they fulfil,
The swallows twisting, bending in energetic flight,
Ever seeming tireless feeding in the light.

The wood birds singing merrily, each in their distinctive tone,
The lark high up in the sky singing on its own,
The passing plane unknown gives applause that all do hear,
An orchestra of music to the inclining ear.

Oft’ times I  pause and ponder God’s creative wonder,
All cares and worries I forsake,
When the mind is free, a million things I see,
Leaning over the gate.

R. D. Lynn

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