It’s 6:30 am; a sliver of light
shimmies between the curtains
and scatters colour music in the chintz;
birdsong tumbles from a giddy height
glimmering spellbound in a pale sky;
jasmine spills into the garden
exploding with scent on damp air;
the hills burn green-gold in the sun
rising in the shadow of the mountain
and unfolds in fields a new Spring day.
The wax-eye alights the flower;
blossoms gird the trees starry white
shedding confetti in a whirl of buds;
camellia are weighted in hundreds of blooms
and honey bees make happy plunder.
Morning rides on a sprightly breeze
chasing pillows of cloud, shadowing grass fields,
painting a piebald sky of lilac-grey on blue;
the streams are rushing full again,
and thunder joy in the culverts.
