The morning hums a gentle tune,
dew still clings where night was strewn.
A sparrow writes across the air,
its wings a brush, its song a prayer.

The sun climbs slow, with golden hands,
unfolding light across the lands.
Shadows shrink, yet softly stay,
teaching night must give to day.

We rise, we fall, like tides at sea,
yet every dawn rewrites the key
a chance to sing, to dream, to try,
beneath this vast forgiving sky.