The sky has wiped its slate,
Obscure, but almost white,
With Dawn emerging coyly,
Casting her soft light
Upon the gracious charm
Of Naure in full view,
Calling her so vibrantly,
So tenderly!  so true!
And, soon, the rising sun,
Exacting but sublime,
Must take full measure of
The brevity of time.
As Dawn advances proudly,
With certainty reborn,
Straight up the traveled path
Of time to meet the morn.
And like the glib recital
Of an all-too-famous rhyme,
She must return but softly
And daintily in time.