When the morning sun rises
Before streets begin to rush
We walk out among the brush
And hear the stillness of the hush.
Dew covers each blade of grass
Coating in a sheer veil of white
Along the sun’s ray of light
Painting a foreboding sight.
She feels softness of the sun
Pouring o’er her dew-dripped fur
As she takes her daily tour
Through the silky bush du jour.
She reminds of life’s innocence
Basking in a white-washed garden
As her doughy eyes ask for pardon
To play before dew will darken
Even the walls fall to the sun’s
Dominion over the morn.
When the dew drop pawns adorn
The canvas, the idea is born.
Mid-morning will come to pass
Rising with it the tart of heat.
Dew will break before sun’s beat.
The day will churn, like waving wheat.
As the sun gains ground on us
And my furry companion sleeps
Our lust for the setting sun keeps
Close our hearts’ butterflies in heaps
For when the pure dew returns
To bathe the earth among crisp air
The touch of soft fur shan’t compare
To the scent wafting from your hair.
No comments:
Post a Comment