Sunrise, Through the Trees

Spires of needle and bark, black against lightening sky,
The majesty of waking – I feel it coming.
Touch of snow, burning frost on flesh –
naught but pines greeting their sire with smiles beckoning.

Ah, single repose!

Time to stir, time to wake,
But not without stunning silence
Steeped in pink, orange, gold –
every moment another touch of Nature’s master brush.

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