In gentle rose of dawning light
this alpine meadow sings,
beckoned from her blushing right
to call to day, all things.
From quiet start to fluttered hurry,
all call from one to one to one,
till caught in flustered din and flurry
break the dawning peace in sum.
The forest floor reborn a-wild,
with subtle hints to work yet done,
casts the sun a dimpled smile
and to her burgeoned beauty come.
‘Tis simple best
this sweetly dressed
expression herein lain,
that she embrace
each living face
and with their souls remain.