I open the curtains and look

  towards the morn.

  A world of dove grey clouds;

  Warm sunrise:

  Plus melodious bird song.

  What thoughts assailed me yestereve,

  Have been driven separate ways by the

  onset of a new morning.

  Bright, clear,

  True and healthy

  Great with promise,

  Full of opportunity

  With the birdsong comes a

  Chorus of colour

  Rose Pink, Lavender.

  Teal blue and cream yellow

  Caught by the sun rays.

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  Echoed by a myriad of flowers

  The last days of Spring,

  Or the first dawn of Summer,

  Walking through a meadow of crystals,

  Accompanied by dancing butterflies.

  Robes lit by the Sun.

  Gaze sparkling like the dawn.

  To which the chimes of the morn chorus,

  Are joined by the rhymatic notes from a Quartet of

  Tower Songstresses.

  One for each Season.

  One for each of the Floral districts

  That make up the realm to which I have only

  begun to add words about:

  Chimefields.

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