I rose, from where I lay.
Slumber then being done with me.
I followed upon what's necessary
––A routine sung out to me—

Then on this particular day,
Trees on the outside
Beckoned with the wind—inside
No thought was then wasted

In entering a paradise
Where clouds charioted across
the sky—to diffuse the harshness of light
So that I could glance at the source of life.