In the pale light of early morning
when grass still wears the sparkling dew,
dawn’s sun peeks shyly over the mountain,
waves goodbye to the passing moon,
Their paths are set, there’s no conundrum.

In the meadow wee things are stirring,
Beside the stream a rising mist
wakes frogs and insects on the wing,
This biosphere a wondrous thing,

As new light  filters through the  curtains
 Mr. Coffee whistles twice, The brew is done;
ah, the joys of this life. In the oven rolls are rising,
spreading scent of cinnamon wafting
through the kitchen. Day has begun.

The paths before us left and right
demand a choice with each turn,
and when with thought the way’s determined,
pray let our footsteps be sure and firm.