Sun rises on our anxious world,
Streams of light pass through trees,
to uncover a partial waiting scene.
Robin the day’s first sound, sings,
the night watered grass, twinkles,
mimics nights departed starlit sky,
In the distance, a pale reflecting moon,
bids goodbye to our now emerging day.
And a silent life form of our dark, a moth,
struggles to find a private place to rest.
Air though cool, has hopes of warmth;
leaves on trees hang still, waiting,
expecting the arrival of the wind.
Robin quietens, a whispered hush,
calm enfolds our unfinished scene,
to give us a peace, a stillness, that
has a silence with a beauty of its own.
Golden orb rises higher in the sky,
faces, fluffy white clouds appear,
they hang motionless, suspended
over mountain tops, peering down,
staring, at our still awakening world.
Pale Moon falls to die in distant hills.
And our now faint moth is sleeping.
Sun has risen high, clouds evaporate.
Our world shakes then stirs, a breeze,
leaves rustle, move with light and shade.