Sea of Clovers

 

Spring arrives,

And in a single blink -

The meadowy Farm gets washed -

In a sea of clovers

Dancing in white and blushing pink

 

The carpet of flowers

Reminds of vales I have never been,

They call me, but I have to wait

The weeds in the meadow

For now are all, that I will have seen

 

They are no brahma kamal,

But the clovers bring peace,

A bridge to the past that never was,

And link to the future –

Of alpine dreams that never cease

 

It is my pensive place –

A spark of the past that ebbs and flows;

Left behind a Valley

Now faraway, this meadow large

Is all that I could have happily chose

 

Do I then love this green

For it brings back to us the mountains' lore?

The clovers sway in the windy day,

You, green grass and indigo skies

What need there is, to ask for more?

Inspired by walks to the historic Farm in Sydney, remnant of the earliest farms established in a fledgling colony and the birthplace of Australian merino wool – that gets washed with white clovers and reminds me incessantly of the Valley of Flowers in the Himalaya