Rosy
A lovely dawning
paints a rose tinted sky.
it will rain later,
the sky will disrobe
and fall as summer tears;
a rain softly sorrowful
yet drenched in a gentle joy.
So young and fair
are the fresh skirts
of this new washed air;
a breeze lifts our eyes
to the hem of heaven.
When the rain comes,
when the gray air trembles,
for it most certainly will,
our sprits will know
both delight and drear,
as we recall,
the lovely artistry,
the fine first blush
of this rosy dawn.
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