Golden morning
In the trough of the gale and a timid sun,
in the green gauze of new leaf
that mantles every tree,
in the long grass trembling
in the trailing breeze of the wind’s tail,
the morning meadow wakes,
crowded with buttercups.
Golden morning
In the trough of the gale and a timid sun,
in the green gauze of new leaf
that mantles every tree,
in the long grass trembling
in the trailing breeze of the wind’s tail,
the morning meadow wakes,
crowded with buttercups.