Morning Meditation Poem

Dawn spills softly, a pale and golden sweep,

Her touch upon the sleeping fields of green.

Leaves shiver, drawn from their quiet sleep,

And in their rustle, day is gently seen.

Each blade, each stem, is stroked by warming light,

A fragile veil on stems and shadows cast.

The air holds still, hushed by morning’s flight,

Yet whispers echo of night fading fast.

Then, as if called by unseen, ancient song,

A spark leaps forth from leaf to leaf anew.

The world feels vast, where silence does belong,

A place where all things past bloom fresh, and true.

Eyes close, then open, searching skyward high—

Finding in that stillness, stars cannot lie.