You wake and run your fingers through your hair
as strokes of early light comb boldly through
the full, high-towering stands of pines and poplars.
Peel-of-lemon shine in tingling strokes
will brush the spiders' threads, the bluebirds' wings,
touch the ripples on the lake and sculpt
the heron's shadow. Now you rise and yawn.
Come, linger in the feel of Southern dawn.