The Dawn Mist rises like breath from the sleeping land,

Softly the meadow greets the day,

With whispers of life and buds that bloom,

In all the wildings the children play.

Birds burst from branches, a choir untold,

Lattice of silver in emerald trees,

The dawn arises, painting the world,

Covering valleys in soft honeyed ease.

Each flower, each leaf, each stir that unfolds

Is touched by the gleam—delicate, bright—

Bringing forth life, laughter, music,

In every corner where dreams take flight.

• John Gould Fletcher