Night sounds have ceased
one by one.
There is still time
for the sunrise.
The blessings of sleep
have covered the world.
And this was the sound
awaited in the lull.
It comes wafted on the breeze,
lilting, lifting, a slow cadence, a prayer
of an unknown origin,
It always stirs
the deep roots in the heart.
The token of early dawn.
May you awaken to its deep song.
It sings for you and me and every being.

The sound of the song has ceased.
The echoes have been absorbed
like an osmosis,
by a bird hiding somewhere in the leaves,
then they spread and mitigate the grief.
A visage of the early dawn is seen
slowly coming up behind the hills.
A slow sunrise and the sounds begin;
once again, the roots stir in the deep,
the leaves speak the language of the earth.
One day has gone, another begins