Steps in the Dawn

The world awakes in gentle hues,

As sunlight spills in golden streaks,

Across the rooftops, fields, and dews,

Where silence bends, yet softly speaks.

I rise before the city stirs,

Before the clamor of the day,

And venture out, where thought occurs,

Along the path where shadows play.

The air is crisp, yet sweet with rain,

A hint of earth, of morning bloom,

The cobblestones reflect my strain,

As steps echo in the waking gloom.

Each footfall stirs the sleeping street,

A rhythm measured, calm, precise,

A dialogue of hearts and feet,

A quiet pact with dawn’s own ice.

The trees along the avenue

Stretch upward, brushing heaven’s light,

Their leaves still wet with sparkling dew,

Catching sunbeams, soft and bright.

A robin sings from branches high,

Its melody both clear and free,

And in that song, my spirits fly,

A gift of nature’s constancy.

The river winds in silvered arcs,

Its surface calm, yet full of motion,

Reflecting skies and passing larks,

A painter’s brush, a flowing ocean.

I pause upon the arched stone bridge,

And watch the water twist and turn,

Its gentle whisper, soft and rich,

A lesson in the way we learn.

Footpaths curve through gardens still,

Where tulips bow and lilies gleam,

Where cobwebs cling to every sill,

And spiders hum their quiet dream.

I breathe the air, so fresh, so deep,

And feel my heart expand with grace,

The city stirs, but I can keep

This moment in its sacred space.

Each passerby, with hurried gait,

Seems unaware of dawn’s embrace,

Yet in my steps, I contemplate,

The peace that early hours trace.

A baker opens, scents arise,

Of bread and coffee, warm and sweet,

A humble offering to the skies,

A comfort for the soul’s retreat.

The morning light grows stronger still,

Its golden fingers touch the walls,

They climb the hills, they fill the rill,

They dance across the garden halls.

The fountains glimmer in the square,

Their arcs of water catching rays,

And children pause to stand and stare,

Enchanted by the liquid maze.

I follow paths through quiet parks,

Where dew-kissed grass bends underfoot,

And petals fall from early larks,

A fragrance in the morning’s root.

The benches empty, shadows long,

The statues gaze in solemn poise,

And every step becomes a song,

A whispered, wordless, waking voice.

A dog bounds past, with joyous bark,

Its tail a flag of uncontained cheer,

A jogger passes, leaving a mark,

Their rhythmic stride both strong and clear.

And in these motions, I perceive,

A harmony of life in play,

The city breathing, wide awake,

Yet still allowing quiet sway.

Sunlight gilds the distant tower,

Its clock hands turning, slow and true,

Each minute carries gentle power,

Each hour brings the day anew.

The birds, the fountains, leaves, and sky,

All merge into a symphony,

A chorus born where footsteps lie,

A morning hymn of reverie.

I wander streets both old and new,

Through lanes that curve and alleys bright,

Where windows catch the sparkling dew,

And chimney smoke drifts in soft flight.

The scents of earth, of bread, of flowers,

Combine to fill the wandering nose,

And in these richly layered hours,

A fleeting peace within me grows.

The world awakens, slow and sweet,

And yet, in walking, I remain

A witness to its quiet beat,

Untouched by haste, unmarked by pain.

Each step a meditation pure,

Each breath a tether to the day,

And in this rhythm, I endure,

I find the light, the dawn, the way.

By streams, by parks, by quiet lanes,

Through city squares and avenues,

I walk, embracing simple gains,

The morning song, its golden hues.

No hurried task, no urgent call,

Can mar the clarity I find,

For in this early, tender thrall,

The world reveals its heart and mind.

The day will come, the world will roar,

With engines, voices, endless pace,

Yet morning walking is much more,

A sanctuary, a sacred space.

I carry home the quiet tune,

The scents, the light, the bird’s refrain,

And in my chest, the rising sun,

A warmth that will not fade again.

Steps in the dawn, both slow and free,

A journey through the waking light,

Each breath, each sight, each melody,

Transforms the world from dark to bright.

So may I walk, and always see,

The magic in the morning air,

The city, river, hill, and tree,

All speaking to me, soft and fair.