A Spring Morning

There is a wild device where the dew still clings, In the morning glow of the leaf; The petals drift sweet on frail, wavering wings, Where the sun pours out to the brief.

Each drop of light like a promise takes form, Each pulse from the soil lifts its gain; For the world is alive with a circle of warmth And a vision made loud from the grain.

I rise to the heights where the stillness is gold, And I walk through the shadows so free; While I listen for reason, a thought to behold, The start of a day under me.

• David Campbell