In The Fields of Clover.

                                  In the Fields of Clover.

Near my home there is a field of clover.
On a warm summer day.
I stop at the field.
I open the car door.
I take my shoes and socks off.
I walk to the field.
I look at the field of green,
which is topped with a field of white.
I walk on the field with the cool moist ground beneath my feet,
and the buzzing of bees near by.
I remember my childhood.
My parents would take us to the park with a field of clover.
We would play on the cool ground under us.
One day I got stung by a bee.
That day I learnt that bees are meant to be watched, not touched.
Today I sit in the field.
Watching and listing to the bees.
I watch the children playing and remember,
my childhood.
In the field of clover.