A DECEMBER MORNING SCENE

On the hay-clad field, graceful cows at morn

Calmly embrace its aureate offering,

Sylvan views turn into tunes that adorn

My musing heart like ornaments to bring

Upon my solitary self a shine,

That soon over my earthly fears aligns

O treasured field, wonder your harvest is!

Tending to humans and cattle’s sublime

Mutuality that like waves upon seas

Grace emerald shores of seasons and time.

Alluring stature of the fertile field,

The fragrance of humble rural hope yields

The field’s mist-bathed attire basks in sunlight,

White storks on this fabric like dazzling gems

Paint rural glory, thus portraying a sight

That has timelessly walked on poesy’s realm

Through a palette that yearns for beauty’s stars

To outshine the mind and its dusky scars.