Sunny

Sunlight spills across the meadow,
golden threads of morning light,
warming every blade of grass,
turning dew to tiny prisms.

The sky, a clear cerulean dome,
holds the sun in quiet triumph,
while sparrows chase the breezy currents,
their songs a bright, unhurried hum.

Children’s laughter ripples through the air,
shadows short and sharp beneath their feet,
as picnics bloom beneath the boughs,
and tea grows sweet with summer’s glow.

Even the old oak seems to sigh,
its leaves aflutter in the gentle heat,
content to bask in the day’s warm gaze—
a simple, shining British summer.