There she does stand in the breeze of the sill,
Light of dawns perfection my bless-ed Gods will,
White wisps of the poppies it flutters her hair,
Pure hold of my gaze in hearts beating-ly stare.
But fly do we flutter in blue winged glade,
With cobble stone trickles it’s wisdom abade,
Gold morning the treasures her warmth is anew,
The soul filled with heavens is feast for these two.
By P. Joseph Colla