Morning.

There is a certain solitude to the hours where fair skies are hidden,
but garnished with subtle pensive rays.
and in between our quiet twilight cheers to early day.
Ascending glory is the sun,
that scatters the mist where it hung-
Ratifying birds chirping to deliver the sound of whisper,
the blushes of an early dawn
in shades of rosey hue.
the wakening of crisp scented leaves
caressed by gems of crystal dew.
fierce and fearful mother nature
bequeathing splendor through the acres,
caters tender in mornings I so humbly respect.

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