Sleeping in the Vale

A hunter green pasture floods my bucolic valley scene.
Rabbits and squirrels search for the perfect shrub or acorn
The mothers gobble down for their babies not ready to wean
All fragile resting, sleeping, back home: the newly born.
The waist high, wild grass gives shade to the small,
But I require the umbra of an oak
Verdant and alive, foliage full and tall.
The tree shivers, as I near, shaking its cloak.
I lay gently down besides its base
The whimsy grass makes way,
I recline, finding a comfortable place.
I close my eyes. Everything fades to gray.