In fields where wildflowers bloom bright,
Their petals whisper secrets in the night.
Each hue, a tale of earth and sky,
Painting dreams that never die.

Among the blades of emerald green,
They sway in rhythms, soft and serene.
Wild hearts, untamed by human hand,
They flourish in nature’s grandest plan.

Beneath the golden sun they gleam,
A poet’s muse, a painter’s dream.
Their fleeting beauty stands so true,
A fleeting glimpse of morning dew.

As twilight falls, they softly sigh,
Bidding farewell to the crimson sky.
In their gentle, silent grace,
Wildflowers find their sacred place.