When the morn blooms and grows,

When the morn blooms and grows
Up above the sky and the greenery below,
One can only sing a song of dove,
One can only be an eagle drenched by love,
When the morn with smile greets
When one feels the happy treat
Of flowers woken up from unbroken dreams
Of a blessed state of golden beams,
One can only with full throated ease,
Sing life's mirth to the joyous lease
Flowing forever, blooming true,
Clean and bright, like a poem
Rewound and renewed,
Filled and swept fresh
By a morning's delightful grace.