In a meadow of dreams
September goldenrod grows
Causing great sneezes
And red snifflly nose

A line of old fence posts
The fencing quite hidden
Pretty morning glory climb
Coming there forbidden

Young teenage boy
Lays in tall growing grass
Dreaming thoughts
Of a certain lovely lass

Bossy cow lazes in
Field along highway
Crows soar in the sky
Butterflies flit as they play

Tree leaves are changing
To orange, yellow and red
Life is quite beautiful
What else can be said

Sharon (



Meadow Of Dreams


It was hot, danged hot as I walked back home. You see the danged car had quit on me, so I decided to just walk home, get the truck, and tow it off to Ed’s house. I no longer work on cars, seems I lost my enthusiasm, plus they don’t require the maintenance they used to. Oh I do wash them and change the oil and rotate the tires. Anyhow, as I said, it was hot, danged hot, as I slowly peram-bulated up the long hill. When I walk, as when I used to hunt a lot, I don’t get tired and rest. I just stop a lot and scout the area, slowly doing a three sixty.

So this way I get to look and to rest. Anyway, as I was looking I saw a golden streak over in a catch basin there on the East side of Converse. I stopped, looked again, for I would have sworn it was golden and this time of year the grass is brown and the aspens are all turning yellow. I reached into my pocket and it just so happened that I had a little Brach’s peppermint, so I slowly unwrapped it and put it in my mouth as I always do. I then folded the little wrapper and began to twist it tighter and tighter, trying to twist it into a short, yes really short, little piece of plastic rope. Well, that area was still golden so I put the piece of paper in my pocket, climbed the fence, and walked toward it. I had to see for myself. Shucks, the car would not go anywhere and I doubt if anyone would bother to steal it.

I walked across the tan and brown field then as I got close to the golden patch, I began to sneeze. “Golden rod,” I said as I blew my nose and sneezed again. As I wiped my glasses I looked further to the East, in a swale between me and the school over there in Buffalo Ridge. It was sort of blurred until I put my glasses back on and then I just stopped and grinned.

There was a large swale there that I had never noticed or seen and it did receive more water than other places for it was all pretty. I sat down on a chunk of concrete and took off my shoe, had a gravel in it. I just relaxed and looked about. There were the remnants of an old house, a small windmill frame with only one blade remaining, and a short section of old fashioned board fence, well not board fence but a line of fence posts with a board here and there still attached to a post. But the thing that caught my eye was the fence row was covered with morning glories. Yes, real morning glories for we don’t get them out here unless they are raised as flowers. But I remember as a boy, grubbing morning glories and morning glory roots out of fence rows. Seems that is how I first met and learned to handle a mattock.

I sat there looking, sort of half dozing in the sun since I was tired and just oblivious to the world. I walked on closer after I put my shoe back on and picked three or four morning glory blooms, smelled them, and walked up the small hill. When I got to the top, I looked back and could see a small settler’s shack, a garden, and that old fence with the morning glories. It was a meadow of dreams. I stood a few minutes reminiscing about similar places back in Vir-ginia when I was a boy, then I, with a large smile, headed back home so I could retrieve that danged car.

Tom (



Winding Road


There is on a hill, a winding road,
Where September golden rods are blooming,
Even the sandy path bears reflections
A line of old fence posts, purple shadows
And reaching morning glories.

Gazing up that lovely road,
One's eyes strain to peer beyond,
Where pink and blue mists meet the sky,
And an unremembered Meadow of Dreams
Illuminates hidden caverns of the mind.

Norma (


Watch these pages for more pieces by Writers at Lara's Den.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.

The Joy Of Meditation

Hello September

Pigs On The Farm

Autumn Magic


Memory Of Love

And.......for many others, click the index image.

Click here to send this site to a friend!

Graphics by Marilyn