Watching a Farm Awaken in Early Spring

I love to watch a farm awaken in the early spring, Especially as the birds in the forest happily sing, The farm knows how to be itself, profound and true, Like the faded red barn, quietly beholding the view. In this moment, the farm finds its serenity, Between sips of morning coffee, so heavenly, Tempting songs of cardinals, a melodious cheer, Chips and whistles carried by the breezy air. Who wouldn't be captivated by this wondrous sight, As darkness surrenders to the emerging light, The old barn stands, with no complaints or pleas, No need for a fresh coat of red, at ease it sees. The morning fog, a gentle, subtle trace, In the fields unplowed, it finds its place, Soon, corn will grow in rows so neat, And crows will gather for a sumptuous treat. Gently I inhale the farm's awakening charm, Especially in the early spring's tranquil arm, Where the soul knows no bounds, it's free, Across an undefined horizon, a painting, you see. Quiet repose, a vastness, the soul's delight, A pretty picture as the new day takes flight, The farm awakens with beauty untold, In the early spring, where dreams unfold.