Lady of the meadow

Lain crest of a river
Wade west of the knoll
Splayed breadth of a quiver
To deliver its toll
 
entertaining the wager
to enrapture its vie
I’ll bleed for the bonnet
Whilst reaping the rye  
 
A maid in the meadow
A Lady of the tines
Crestfallen fellows
Seven acres behind
 
Tilling with the pleasure
Of enlisting thy kin
Never idle in vastness
no toiling in din
 
A harvest of marrow
found deep in thy bones
teething on the wisdom
Found under the stones
 
The winds wick the grasses
To encourage the bloom
The petals line the chalice
of seeds in the womb
 
our hands wear the weather
A gift from the soils
Souls of indulgence  
Enjoying the spoils