“sunrise”

Golden secrets spill across the fields,  
Night retreats, its velvet folded tight,  
A hush, as if the silent world now yields—  
To gentle arms of gold and blush and light.

Through trembling trees, a saffron painter's hand  
Brushes sky with strokes of apricot and flame,  
Shadows shrink upon the waiting land,  
As every blade and blossom calls its name.

Birdsong stitches music through the air,  
Morning dew ignites a fleeting spark,  
Hills stand tall, proud sentries standing there,  
The day unfurls from hush to vibrant lark.

Awake, awake—the world’s been born anew,  
No richer canvas ever met the eye.  
With hope, with promise, every dawn is true—  
A whispered grace that glimmers in the sky.

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