The lake lies silent, deathly still,
As the early bird cries out her shrill,
The morning mist, a sweeping haze,
And Jack Frost’s tears, an icy glaze.
The Sun lies low, a radiant band,
Her dawn light rays, caress the land,
O’er autumn leaves and glistening dew,
This day begins with hope anew.
The mouse, she scurries, light of feet,
As wise owl follows, she needs to eat,
Nature, serene, but oh so cruel,
For mouse to owl, is merely fuel.
The Oak tree towers, bold and proud,
His branches loom from misty shroud,
His bark all gnarled, coarse and knotted,
With fallen leaves, now mildew blotted.
Now dawn creeps on, the creatures rise,
As the forest fills with shrieks and cries,
The sun she shines, climbing higher,
Her orange glow, a distant fire.
The mist lies gently, across the stream,
As if a rising plume of steam,
The birds they gather by the lake,
Kingfisher watching from his stake.
A fish jumps clear, a splash, a ripple,
Escaping foes that mean to *******,
A flash of scales, a fearsome Pike,
As stealthily, Heron, waits to strike.
The Sun climbs on, the mist rolls by,
The subtle breeze, a gentle sigh,
The day rolls onwards as bees they drone,
That early bird, no more alone.
From dawns early chorus, to mid morning clatter,
As now the animals begin to chatter,
From chirps and cheeps, to grunts and croaks,
Nature’s symphony plays through the oaks.
© Cinco Espiritus Creation
