Footprints through the morning dew yet not a footstep ever made
along the grass worn in a path in the early morning shade
Where flowers of a garden grew
with blossoms of the springtime new
where as a child she often played.
The early light profuse with sound but nothing yet has even stirred
beneath the silent floating clouds without the chorus of a bird
observance by the flighted few
on branches in the morning new
of a voice that they have heard.
Warm sunrise of a summer\'s dawn but yet there is a chill
an energy that moves the leaves ere sun that crests the hill
that lifts the mist of morning dew,
like perfumed flowers picked brand new;
her fragrant scent it lingers still.
The mist it swirls here all around yet the air it has no motion
like the salty breath from waves that crash the rocks of yonder ocean
as waters changing with the hue
of budding flowers colored blue
as a wistful soft emotion.
Her time it passed long ago and yet her soul continues on
found amongst the senses tuned to every hint of blessed dawn
and memories that they imbue
like petals where the sun shines through
as if her form had never gone.