The Magic of the Morning Dew

Before the light, in the quiet of the morning,When the stars are still whispering, white and gentle,A brand-new, unspoiled, and pristine worldUnder the early dew, it unfolds.

Like tiny pearls in silvered light, the leaves' petals are dazzling.Every drop is a crystal dream world.A brief flare, a silence in between.

Dewdrops spread from the jeweled crowns of the ivy's thread and emerald blades.A sacred melody that sings where frail moments throb is a liquid lace.

It inhales quietly, gracefully,A curtain of mist over the face of nature.The woodlands wake, the meadows sigh,As the beautiful dawn breaks.

Winds with soft feet that move across the air,Lift the dewdrop's prayer gently.It gives the day a blessing kiss before fading away after shimmering and swaying.

Where shadows rest beneath the trees,The contact of the dewdrop is deep and warm.It sings to buds that have not yet blossomed.A morning light lullaby.

And when it falls, the embrace of the light,A hushed dream, a disappearing trace,However, a story is told in every drop—a kiss from the sun, a gift from the night.

So, before the day comes, stop, my soul,And watch as the mist drifts away and rises.Because the enchantment of first sight is contained within tiny drips of liquid light.