He gives his early morning call,
The old black crow with beady eyes,
And sits upon the branches near,
Beneath this cloudless pale blue sky.
And then I hear the whistling cry,
Of kite in flight,
These morning sounds,
Fill the air with nature's tune,
No finer notes I've truly found.
A wood pigeon coos and coos away,
It's soothing sound so welcoming,
I don't need a radio,
For nature is a precious thing.
That morning song,
Just melts my heart,
Sweet is the sound,
Of a brand new day,
Pleasant is the air so bright,
All my cares now gone away.
Jayne Louise Davies
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem