The silver breasted morning sun,
Wakes every leaf to golden hue.
As shadows dance, I find I’m won,
By magic spun in every view.

Upon the hill that rolls and dips,
The whispers of the breezes play,
In every sound a truth eclipses,
Time slows as flowers bloom in sway.

Let nature fasten hand in hand,
With every spirit’s ease and grace.
In landscapes shaped by rocks and sand,
We find our truth, our sacred place.

• Philip Larkin