With the sun,
The stars begin to fade
Sinking beneath dawn’s red glow.
The moon paling at the sight of its warmth,
Taking its final bow before exit.
Hillsides, blanketed with golden light,
Glisten with beads of chilly dewdrops
The warblers chatter
Amongst their drowsy flock
Whistling greetings to new life.
And the beholder standing
In wake of great divinity,
Takes their place amongst creation
At peace with the warblers and worms
Knowing at long last
They are no burden,
Nor undeserving,
Nor broken,
Nor a mess to be swept aside.
They are,
As endlessly enough
As the Earth upon which they stand.
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