On a misty morning, a bird sits in a tree
Unclear of where to go
Not sure where it came from
Alone, solitary,
The trees around bare as a bone,
And the sound of sirens in the distance
How can one not feel down and
dreary?
But droplets of water on a spider web,
The glistening of the bud of a flower,
And the hopeful sun on this silent,
Golden morning
How can one not see the beauty of this silent moment?
