Before the sun spills over jagged line, And paints, in half-speed, the sky with candescent stroke; I'm met by the hymn of wind, and knot, and rhyme, As dawn chorus readies in the oak.
On dewy green, I tread muted through dappled rays, To stir what night's cold breath has left, And spin to melodies that wake from over way, While fading dark leaves moon and stars bereft.
It’s here in stillness as vantages withdraw, And prelude patterns play for all to learn, I savour these fruits left at today’s door, Save only a wish, for tomorrow's return.
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A signed print for the winning bid is included.
