The morning shines
in pure and cloudless blue,
The air's so fresh
it begs to be breathed through.
A swallow's cry sounds out
above my head,
It soothes the ear —
the wish to live has spread.
Blades of grass bend
beneath the heavy dew,
Flowers stretch out
to greet the rising sun,
And far off woods,
a stripe of verdant hue,
Rustle their branches
where the great streams run.
I stand caught in the trap
of wild grass's duty
Singing my song
to the great Earth's beauty..
Morning
© Copyright: Татьяна Дубровская 2, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126072907165
Свидетельство о публикации №126072907165
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