Chills encompass our bodies
Our senses raw from the crispness of the morn
But what should so warm us
If not the fiery gaze of the sun
Peaking up from beneath the tree-filled horizon

Should we but be in the haze of morning slumber
Oft we not experience the crimson blush of the early rising sun
For it appears to prompt our very minds
To stir into wakefulness

The tears of night
Already shimmering upon the vibrant green grass
Droplets dripping down stems to mingle with the puddles below
Puddles through which step the groggy morning goers
Saturating the bottommost material of their hastily adorned pants
To fade in undetected wisps of steam
Gradually with the coming of
The wakefulness of day