There are moments when reclining by a field of flowers,
Or sitting by a babbling brook,
And soaking up the early summer mist,
That the mind wanders floating with the clouds.
It travels through existence,
Searching for purpose and meaning,
Floating over time,
Viewing strife and pain,
Joy and happiness,
Looking for a reason when the next sunrise comes,
To rise out of bed and, like the sun, become born anew.
As the mind wanders, floating gently with the clouds,
It returns after a while and lingers with the flowers and brook,
Their beauty speaks as they shimmer in the late afternoon sun,
Completely enveloped in the golden hour rays,
That descends like angles from the heavens.
Then the mind transfixed on their beauty begins to understand,
Perhaps the reason to live is guided by beauties hand,
And as the sun creeps further down the horizon, there is a peace that sweeps over the land.
