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Poem

I am sitting at the waters’ edge
                             Watching the morning full of gifts
            The sun hidden with dark cloud
                             Only the pinning of dawn allowed 
 
 Its quiet in the early grace
      No man sounds
                But a cacophony chorus of bird song
                           Near and far their different voices play
 
 A soft breeze flirts across the calm
                                Ripples erase dark tree forms
             Close to shore the clouds are painted
                                Softly mirror the sky

 As fish surface to give away chase
      A bug shiny as breakfast
           Water hyacinth float serene, a disguise
                  As crocodile eyes peer

 Now come voices of passers by
                        On their daily walk as am I just a visitor
            In the gift of morning dawn 
                                 I open my eyes to see

6018-2020
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco  " Gifts"

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