Moonlight on Meadows

The moon, a silver coin in velvet skies, Paints the meadow with its gentle lies. Each blade of grass, a shimmering thread of white, Reaches up to catch the pale moonlight. A symphony of shadow, soft and deep, Where fireflies like tiny stars do sleep. The air is still, a hushed and silent plea, As dew-kissed flowers breathe in ecstasy. The willow weeps, its branches reaching low, To touch the earth where secrets softly grow. An owl's soft hoot, a lonesome, haunting call, As night descends upon the meadow's thrall. A world of wonder, hidden from the day, Where dreams take flight and shadows softly sway. The moonbeam's kiss, a gentle, whispered grace, Upon this meadow, a magical, silent space.