What wonder does the dawn bring
in her rise over the Eastern Hills?
What fates are sealed
in the last moments of will
when she sets in the West?

How icicles melt
and snow does water
at the sight of the day

How plants do grow
and seasons change
within the turn of
the month of May

When green does die
as every bird will fly
as religiously as a prayer

As noon stands tall
casting shadows for all
for whom we are the mark
that it bears.

We talk of death and life
so short like sand
just part of the beach

We speak of plans and strife
so light as if
naming days of the week

What wonder does the dawn bring in her rise over the Eastern Hills?

Does the sun of the summer warm us just as a winter breeze chills?

No wonder or surprise
for both invoke
the same in mind

Time, regret
Sunrise, sunset
You will have lost
what you will find.

-r0