Facing the River by Czesław Miłosz

A Meadow

It was a riverside meadow, lush, from before the hay harvest,
On an immaculate day in the sun of June.
I searched for it, found it, recognized it.
Grasses and flowers grew there familiar in my childhood.
With half-closed eyelids I absorbed luminescence.
And the scent garnered me, all knowing ceased.
Suddenly, I felt I was disappearing and weeping with joy.



Day 23: #TheSealeyChallenge