Like a sky painted by His warmth,

Like a sky painted by His warmth
A morn from behind trees look up,

Like a friend calling one out
To go explore those clouds
Filled by His Benevolence no doubt-
His act kind yet glorious
That makes the night the baton to the morn pass,
That makes the Beauty, christened as Mist,
To unveil Her face to be kissed
By the rays so luminous,
A morn sacrosanct breaks out,

Like a sky filled with The Bright,
The Morn strikes His unmatched Light,
And one takes his love of life to the road
To be filled by the falling gold that pours,
To be filled to his heart's brim,
by the foggy wintry sunny beam,

Like a sky painted by His warmth
A morn from behind the houses look up,
And one taking the road, catching those clouds,
Gets transformed to a troubadour, no doubt.

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