Awake! Awake! The Senses Shout

In the silence of the morn, with the sun just born,

Awake! Awake! The senses shout,

They draw and sculpt the world about,

Each whispering its own account.

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The sight - a wistful painter's brush,

Coloring the world a gentle flush.

In the palette of the dawn and dusk,

Life's transient beauty, in its husk.

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The sound - a fiddler in the night,

Playing tunes of sorrow, joy, and delight.

In the symphony of the day and calm of the night,

Woven in the fabric of the moon's pale light.

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The smell - a vagabond, lost in the fields,

In fragrant woods, his essence yields.

He dances with the roses, sleeps with the lilies,

In the lap of nature, he finds reprieve.

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The taste - a curious child at play,

In a garden of flavors, its fingers splay.

In the sweetness of honey, the bitterness of rue,

Tasting life, as morning dew.

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The touch – an explorer of foreign lands,

Roaming free with eager hands.

Tips trace contours, the velvet of a petal,

Turn to gold lead hearts of base metal.

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In the world of senses we reside,

With the dawn, we wake, with the dusk, we hide.

In the echoes of the day, in the hush of the night,

In the senses, our stories write.