As morning climbs the eastern stairs,

I rise to watch the light of dawn

cast its glow upon the verdant

blush of nature's face.

There is a verdure here that permeates

all within its realm.

An ivy trellis hugs one wall above

a dark and emerald pool, where

lime tree frogs pause in their doxology

to life and rest atop moss-jaded stones.

An early breeze, holding scents of herbs,

carrys new promises of things to come.

The verdigris of other morns has

long subdued a fount of bronze,

whose issue falls in algae streams,

filling the hush with water sounds.

I pause, and listen, as a solitary

bird call cues the morning with

the first subtle notes of this,

my secret garden psalm.