smells of fresh flowers,
and wild grass.
I sit, overlooking the winding stream.
The water gliding over the rocks
rounded with time and erosion.
And as I eye my own reflection,
I cannot help but think of this place.
Home.
Here in an open meadow,
beside the small stream.
Through my rose colored glasses
it is the most beautiful painting
of them all.
A painting
that I hope to one day
create.
Meadow Stream
by T. C. Chiu
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