It is...within the tiny things of early morning, that moment breaths alive, it is within the tiny whisperings, that a melodye plays...like the very dear and the antelope, play home on the range.
so goes the melodye of heart beat, that plays quietly the songs of soul,
here a rhyme is born of day-light coming so soon, through the early morning eyes of the moon-light, and the starry dreams of twilight's transitioning...
into the light of a love letter written to dawn.
soul to soul conversing, as in this love letter, the letters just join hands with the words and just march across the sky...and at the end of the rainbow, there be plenty of golden time,
way down deep on the inside,
...as the inspired choir, of a bumble bee, or a butterfly, starts to sing, like tiny things that live,
flower to flower,
blossom to bloom,
watered and deeply cared for...
I say, deep beneath the surface of a wishing well...where the pennies lay,
I wish a sun-rise.