the song of the morning

The sun rose with the gracefulness of a swan, spreading its endless glory across the heavens. It brought life to the vast sky with its divine presence, adding colours to where darkness had once reigned. The grass sway with the passing wind and sparkled amidst the morning dew. It was a fresh new morning that whispered to me of my unspoken dreams. Then it came floating with the wind, so freely and so gently before falling as if it were a petal. It seemed to be a voice, but if it was, then it was a voice like none other. All that was done was simply a greeting from the courtesy of a charminig young lady, and yet it came to me as a song. It was a song I wished would never end. It was a voice that looked more lovely than a blood rose. A voice that smelt more fragrant than aromatic perfume. A voice that tasted sweeter than golden honey. A voice the felt too soft for my coarse palms to touch. It was a voice I wish to hear again.