Year
Dawn is an eternal woman spirit of grace,
arising with a soft sigh in summer's endearment,
under a vast canopy of orange-red heavens,
her curves are the deep green mountains
laying luxuriously in great age,
yet, with the newness of emerald sapling trees,
I'm captivated by the glory of morning,
as a dewy spider's web glistens and sparkles
in nature's ornamental fashion,
the whippoorwill surrenders her starlight
concert to the chirping sparrows,
and the wood fairies stretch their
translucent wings.