The air is cool, a gold sun climbing.
The waking birds begin their chiming.
Buds are opening, drinking in dew.
The sky’s expanse shows hints of blue.
Trees open arms to growing light,
as the sleepy world bids farewell to night.
I am a mere witness to this glory,
unfolding gently, in the morning.
So, in the morning, I take my bread.
My feet are washed, my soul is fed.
He speaks to me, softly, tenderly.
Through nature’s song of waking glory.