In dawn’s first hush, when time forgets to turn,
The meadow hums its secret into bloom.
Each silver thread of dew begins to yearn,
A trembling harp beneath the lilac gloom.

The faeries wake on petals spun from light,
Their laughter ripples through the amber air.
They waltz on dandelions taking flight,
A thousand suns released without a care.

The bees compose with golden tongues of sound,
The poppies sigh in soft, harmonic grace.
Each drop of dew becomes a sacred round,
Each seed a note that drifts through time and space.

And in that song—so fragile, fierce, and free—
The garden dreams the world back into being.
For all of nature’s breath, in symmetry,
Is love made visible, and softly seeing.

~ Morgan C. Morgan
Writer of light, shadow, and the stories between.

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