Tears of Dew

[psychosnail]

 Fog clouds up
the morning sky
masking the soul
of whipporwil's cry
Proud hawks wheel
as the mouses scurry
rabbits twitch and hop
in their slow hurry.
With the brush of wind
tree branches cry
tears of dew, tears of dew.

Grass is at it's greenest
in the blueness
of early morning light,
dew becomes a 
thousand mirrors
reflecting this day's
emergence from night.
Flowers open their faces
to the morning light
and with the brush wind
shudder, shiver, and shake off
tears of dew, tears of dew.