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There is a language, little known,
Lovers claim it as their own.
It symbols smile upon the land,
Wrought by nature's wondrous hand;
And In their silent beauty speak,
Of life and joy, to those who seek
For Love Devine and sunny hours
In the language of the flowers.
- The Language of Flowers, London, 1875

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•••

The Meadow lay PEACEFUL in the early evening. It's tall grass virgin to human intervention and flowers swaying with the soft music of the wind, all surrounded by the tallest of pine trees.

That is..until the young adolescent disturbed the silence with a youthful glee of excitement and joyous skips through the rugged path built by man, separating life with rugged stoned path.

The child stopped for a brief second and admired the beauty of nature, sighing longingly at the wild flowers that sprouted within the vibrant grassy fields.

Oh, how she wished she could pick out a few, maybe even one to bring home..but the adolescent knew better and decided against her foolish longing.

Everyday was the same, she'd walk through the path on her way to schooling, stop and admire but never cross the man-made shield.

To her surprise, today felt different to young Lilith, the trees swayed the opposite direction and the meadow seemed to play a melody, made tailored to her.

It was as if the flowers called out to her and the grass challenged her to prance in its graceful colors of greens.

She scolded herself at the thought of crossing past the black tar, knowing it's melody was forbidden as she continued the path to her town.

In her town, the town of Aberdeen, the meadow was strictly forbidden. Her schooling provided warnings with melodies and rhymes to remind the younger children, such as herself, to stay clear of the vast greenery.

So she began to hum the rhyme to clear her mind of her forbidden intentions as she was taught:

"Then, pretty dear, be afraid:

We'll find thy creatures in the woods

Now laugh and be gay, from the woods stray away!

And there, my babe, we'll live for aye."

Her lyrics were interrupted by a sneerful scoff, soft but audible. Enough to have the young girl skid to a stop and take a look at her surroundings, an attempt to find where the noise originated.

She was at the point in the path that was surrounded by tall dark trees that covered anything past it's branches.

Her heart raced and her mind was set on running as fast as her slim legs could carry.

Just as her leg took its first step forward, a voice called out its first words in desperation.

" Don't go " a small pause, "Please"

•••

Rhyme altered from its original form.
Originally from " Her Eyes are Wild" by William Wordsworth.

Yours truly, A.