The golden honey grass sways back and forth,

The sun dissolves the silky velvet dew.

A gentle breeze develops from the North,

The birds begin to chirp, the day's anew.

The crunch of little feet on fallen leaves,

A child chases a butterfly through brush.

Small dappled shapes of light shine through the eaves,

A stream speaks of a garble and a gush.

A snapping twig disturbs the sweet moment. 

The child stands oh-so-still in quiet fear,

Then sees a small tan head emerge the tent

Of trees, a staring soul, a nervous deer.

Oh how I wish these happy times would stay,

These morning songs just take my breath away.