Awaken my soul to the triumph of morning
the darkness gives way to dawn's newest display,
a round ruby's red orb, in majesty adorning
the resplendent tiara, Mother Nature wears today.
Shoulder length gold tresses, wind blown, caressing
rosy cheeks, eyes smiling invitations to speak,
she's dressed to perfection, an attitude professing
the bridegroom to win her resides not with the meek.
The blue of her gown, the green of the mantle
cloaking young shoulders, are perfecting compliments
to precision of form, where connoisseur, vandal
or peasant in the loam, raise their glad sentiments.
To the fore, gallant heart, she glances your way,
rejoice in the blessing for opportunity knocks;
let nothing deter you, this being your day
tis a fair wind blowing, have no fear for the rocks.