I've seen some sights in early morning
That are the things which inspire poets:
The steam boiling off a pond up into the early morning air,
Great wedges of fog filling the valleys and low places giving the earth a new contour,
Also blankets of fog through which rays of dazzling sunlight stream,
Maple trees in the fall which blaze in colors of red and orange,
Laying colorful blankets of leaves softly around their base,
Dew glistening on the short mown grass as sunlight glistens off each drop,
And in the homes, breakfast time when family mills around preparing for a new day.
I cannot understand why those who enjoy so the night
Would sleep through the beauty and joy of morning.
