Hours of sleep,
or opening and closing
different pages of dreams,
I await the morning to dawn
I await the morning breeze,
the waves of distant chirrup
and on the blades of grass
the dazzling morning dew
I await the fresh buds to bloom,
a butterfly or two to fly by in glee
and walking by the still lake to see
a duck or two to float as if boats in the sky
With every small step to script a page,
new that was not written ever before,
and the tiny steps lead to new phases
to gather new wisdom to be saints and sages
