Sometimes I walk by the meadow,

Not to look at the grass or flowers,

Not the faint number of trees either,

It’s because of you.

You always seem to be walking,

Not near the meadow,

Not far from it,

But in it.

And now, I can see it,

The beauty of the meadow.

The vast stillness,

Bees drifting from flower to flower,

Butterflies floating—not flying.

There’s a kind of calm here,

Deliberate and wild,

Untouched, yet breathing with life.

The murmur of the nearby brook,

The distant rustle of unseen animals,

It’s not entirely silent,

It’s filled with a quiet presence.

And with you strolling through it,

The meadow becomes a living canvas,

That was when I knew,

I had fallen in love with you.