Some morns are so inexpressible,

Some morns,
Are so inexpressible,
So beauteous,
That one fails to decipher
How to paint them up,
Like a morn arriving with dew drops
Hanging like little beads of diamonds on railings,
And a foggy light overwhelming,
And songs heard floating,

Some morns are so divine,
So full of happiness,
That one wonders
What can not words do?
What not a moment can hold?

Some morns
Are so filled with misty gold
That feeling them one turns emerald,


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