I awake and touch the September morning chill
The early dew glistens in the morning hue
And softens the low mist that abounds
A fox scurries away after his night of slaughter
And mushrooms make their early morning rounds
Only to disappear before the dew dries
As the day takes over from the dawn
Crows proclaim their territory and argue with the rooks
The last murmurs of the morning chorus end its run
As the field mouse hurries away and awaits
The coming of the warming sun
copyright © johnnydod 2011
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