Still life, waits with baited breath
For the warmth of the coming day
From twilight, promises of sun
Lift the grass, a thousand dewy fingers
Applaud the feeble rays
Slow to burn the morning mist away.

Rook tree flutters leafy wings
Awakening the birds in lofty beds.
Swelling swiftly, a crescendo of song
Which builds to fill a garden theatre;
Light unfolds on all the floral players
Shyly turning centre stage with dancing heads.

They take their cue from early morning sun
Another day's performance has begun.