There's a sweet silver hue on the grass this morn
Soft defracted through the dew
A warm misty drift is formed
Soundtracked by the pigeons
Moaning low
A quiet transcendent being is born
The briefest of existence
Magnifies it's vague brilliance
As a cloud bank rolls over
And screens it for awhile
You know that it's still there
A bulwark against the care
That been persistently nagging you
To be alive
But when the sun appears again
something has know changed
It's flattened out
All joy gone south
Your eyes cast down
And once again
Yourself you do chide.