Bwalking The Pasture Poem by Barry A. Lanier

When I head out over the pasture
The morning after the first winter frost
Seeing the strain in the Bermuda
Sensing the life that was lost

In the early freeze morning of stillness
Adding weights bringing poplars to ground
Struggling leaves no longer cottage green
Falling down with a lingering brown

At the end of the pasture found a wild daisy
Yet not faded and touched by night's dew
Stooping, I picked this last enchanting wild flower
Softly holding, bringing it home to you