Little rise by the pasture gateSprouting green grassSpitting red and yellow bloomsSoaking up sunlightSinging under a blue sky

Rest by the pasture gateIn new dappled shade,Green on your flanks from rolling,Green on your muzzle from feastingThe whole world is turning Green; you appear to be following suit.

Stems like handles,Blooms like feathery brushesDipped in orangey-red,Paintbrushes fill the pastureWith bright patches of colorLike liquid scarves of brightOriental silk.