All that happens when a girl lies on her back in the middle of a field.

[Beneath her hat of sunflower and straw
(Hidden by a shadow from whence it draws),
A spotting of freckles plays to and fro,
Gently cupped by waves of gold.]

Softly, Spring flows ‘round her body so rare,
And the green thin blades cradle her there;
Arms outstretched under the morning sun,
Her fingers comb the sod wetted by dawn.

As idle Time runs gadding along,
And the redpoll finch pipes his song,
A wayward trav’ler happens into view —
A cott’ny puff ‘gainst a field of royal blue.

Through the skies her eyes give chase,
And slowly a smile envelops her face;
For to follow the figure is to find mellow,
The harsh reality ‘neath her sundress yellow.

To her lips a ring of petals she lifts,
The flaccid stem of a dandelion eclipsed;
And like an April’s breeze lightly unrolls,
She nods her eyes and softly blows.