At the swinging open
of the curtains
that keep the phantoms
of the night away
and lets in the rays of
the living sun
at the dawning of the day,
I peered through the
cordial windows
to see the stage of
nature’s theatrics,
the first act when she yawns
with the inundation of the sun,
then stretches to
soothe her rusty muscles,
then the music of the birds,
the euphonic speaking
in a language unknown that
sounds like giggling piccolos
at play high in the maples,
chatting amongst themselves
swinging from branch to branch
in a happy-go-lucky mood,
singing along with the wind
that whistles among the leaves,
and lets me know it’s
time to get up
and start my daily routine.
I owe my happy mood that
gets me through the hectic day,
to the euphonic way
that I’m woken up at dawn,
by the music of the birds.

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