On a quiet Sunday morning
Cattle standing lowing
In the fields; behind the fencing
Bright cool light of dawn commencing
Across the hills;across the sky
Strands of pink cotton candy fly
Like ballooning spiders casting web
Tentacles from the sun are spread
A gentle wind, rustling leaves
Dances through the tops of trees
Sparking dew lit diamonds there;
Casting emeralds through the air
Maples, fluttered by the breeze
Send forth their helicopter seeds;
Gypsy fruit that congregate
Swiftly, as if they were running late
Upon the dawn and through the air
The slightest hint of autumn there
Soon the maples will turn to embers
Burning the edges of September
What joy and peace the morning brings
Like angel harps with sunlit strings
Until the whole of nature sings
While in the distance church-bells ring
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