Green fields of sweet clover,
Gold promise of grain,
Bright sunshine and breezes,
Quick, warm drops of rain.

Clear pools of soft water,
Quiet, green shady nooks,
Fat honeybees scouting
By cool, bubbling brooks.

Tall trees weave fine shadows,
Their cool shade bestows,
Goats frisk in the meadows
Where redbud trees grow.

Wildflowers reach skyward,
Birds' cheery songs ring,
Slow sheep in green pastures,
Cows graze by the spring.

Nature knocks at your door,
God's rich treasures abound,
With His fields of fruitful harvest
Glowing over the countryside round.

© Elisabeth Weaver Winstead

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