how should words impart the dawn? that release from night’s surreal kiss which though blesses us with its domain cannot compare with morning’s bliss tinting shadows with its gold and gentle touch that stirs the soul into this vibrant gallery of sight and sound and fragrance whole
for now I write of morning’s wind
and it’s breathing in the boughs
waking as it doth,
the world from slumber
‘fore even does the sun arouse.
each treetop shakes a yawn asunder
and seems to stretch its fingers high
as into day,
the woods aliven
greeting dawn that paints the sky.