Dawn breaks with ethereal light streaming
Through rigid trees and palest cloud
The naked lake, is tranquil, gleaming
Leaves assemble, rustling crowd.

An illumination is the Sun
Trees hum their soul song of the morn
One fleeting moment is the one
With fluttering leaves on crumbling fawn.

When delicate birds sing their song too
The trees rest for a while
To listen to the young ones’ tune
Weaved from freedom and from guile

The trees know though they are ancient,
That youth is the idyllic state
So they hear the tiny birds in patience
Whilst the trees cast the laws of fate

The birds will sigh and end their lives
All eventually
The leaves pass with fluttering cries
No one hears them but the trees.