by E. E. Raleigh

Created on: May 22, 2008

Sweetly slanting tones bend through, each resplendent drop of dew,
peering through them life does too, assume a sweeter slant.

Vicars of the feathered form, preach the news, "a Sun is born!",
I've a savior in this morn, oh stump you cherished pew.

Petalled nymphs float fragrant charms, silent Sirens wafting bars,
waves of scent which sail one far, from problems they have known.

Paintings whisper on the brook, envies of an artist's look,
steal my heart you precious crook, immerse it in pure joy.

Little Bewick's wren so small, stepping as though heron tall,
yes I too have heard the call, today we start anew.

From the basket rise my heart, for this charmer, morning's start,
let the snakes not have their part, shed pain and writhe no more.

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