Morning Dews

In the quiet hour, when night whispers fade,

And the first light peeks through the dark,

The world awakes in a gentle parade,

As dewdrops dance in the park.

A symphony of stillness, pure and serene,

Hushed whispers of the dawn,

Each droplet a story, a glistening scene,

On petals and blades newly born.

They gather on the grasses, in silvery beads,

Like pearls on a verdant string,

Silent testimonies of night's quiet deeds,

In the embrace of morning’s wing.

Beneath the gaze of a waking sun,

They sparkle with fleeting grace,

A brief existence, before the day is begun,

And warmth melts their tender face.

The flowers hold them in delicate arms,

A jeweled crown of light,

Reflecting the sky's pastel charms,

In the early morning’s sight.

Soft breezes stir, a gentle caress,

And dewdrops tremble and sway,

Each one a mirror, the world to bless,

Before they silently drift away.

On spider’s web, they hang like stars,

In a constellation of dreams,

Tiny prisms that capture the far,

In their ephemeral, glistening gleams.

Oh, transient jewels of the morn,

You whisper of life’s brief stay,

Of beauty in moments, newly born,

Before the sun steals you away.

Yet in your short-lived, sparkling dance,

You leave a mark so pure,

A reminder of the night’s romance,

And the dawn's tender allure.

Morning dews, with your delicate touch,

You paint the world anew,

In the quiet hour, we cherish so much,

When dreams and daylight ensue.

So, as the day unfurls its wings,

And the dews fade from sight,

We hold close the peace morning brings,

In the heart of the soft dawn light.