Sweet dewdrops remain
In the soft fields where they lay
Shimmering their way

I am a leaf and you are a voracious caterpillar. I'm gone, when you turn into a butterfly, develop the color of your wings.

I'm late night and you're polite dew. I was not there when on the leaf, morning and the sun brilliant you.

There is no dew
Framed skylines and paved heat
Asleep at dawn

MORNING is the way the earth teaches me how to love you, what I seem to routinely do, but in fact never repeats the same.

Morning is the way the sun teaches me to be faithful to you. He was never silent but did not move from him. Thus, true love is a love that does not ask.

Morning is the way the dew tells me about sincerity, and it wants me to imitate. It will only be there for a moment. But on the leaves, the traces of the story remain legible.

Morning, earth, sun, and dew, are my way of doing things for you, that is finding myself in who is not me, as I got from my love for you.

This morning, my hand
Caught the first drop of dew.
I think I just held your hand.