Gifts

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"