When The Day Comes O'er The Hillside

As the day rides o'er the hillside,

A violet-primrose, subtle plash;

Galloping, gleaming, glowing day-tide

In gilded sunlit charging dash.

Wherein the light-soaked early morn

Sun streaks blissly dance at will;

A single cloud, detached, forlorn

Drifting by above the hill.

A silhouette, a hovered bird,

A cameo shadow in the east,

Reposing, high, without a word

Silent, searching for his feast.

As far below him field mice scurry

Darting in/out twixt the grasses;

Hiding out and all a flurry,

Laying low till peril passes.

Salmon leaping in the stream

Rippled splashes touching down.

Starting off the day's regime,

Glinting tones of golden brown.

Chasing off the last of night,

In the contest day-bright wins;

Triumphant with the cool first light

Here is where the day begins.

                          ASJ