Across the glistened, grassy glens
of verdant, fertile vales and dales,
she drapes her flimsy fronds.
I’ll meet this day in my own way;
not seized but gently swayed.
Allayed, I view, through lens of misty grey,
Nature’s stirring from the ebon night.
Inevitably, as comes the waking day,
her cushioned folds will warm.
She’ll rise, grow thin – then silent fade away;
nudged aside by day, as if to say:
“Now go away”.