The morning drifts on quiet feet,
Through silver mist and waking street.
A sparrow lifts a simple song,
As sunlight pulls the day along.
The river keeps its patient way,
Reflecting clouds that pause and stray.
And in the hush of passing hours,
The world unfolds like opening flowers.
No trumpet sounds, no grand display,
Just ordinary light at play.
Yet in these moments, soft and small,
There lives a kind of wonder for all.
The morning drifts on quiet feet, Through silver mist and waking street. A sparrow lifts a simple song, As sunlight pulls the day along. The river keeps its patient way, Reflecting clouds that pause a