An early spring morning-
Fog hangs on the river.
Dawn's light again born king,
Dances with the shadows,
A lovely scene beheld.
Great beauty, yet simple,
Nature alone is here.
I should be lifted up,
By this perfect sunrise,
Yet I am struck instead,
With an aching torment.

Unable I, to speak,
Its etiology,
Nor put to words the pain.
I cannot comprehend,
Why a scene picturesque,
Should cause such emptiness.
My soul pines for beauty,
Always, unrelenting,
In anticipation,
Of a heaven on earth.

Thus when a glimpse I view,
Expecting paradise,
No words can near explain,
The downcast turn of soul,
Realizing what exists,
And what shall never come-
A beautiful abode,
Free of pain, hurt, and death,
Is so far from this day.
Far from reality,
What is longed for greatly,
Expectations unmet.

Reunited by a view,
On a gay spring morning,
Of paradise hoped for.
My soul aches in knowing,
That nothing will appear,
Resembling that full grace.
No form nor shape given,
Ever to my dream place.