The Morning Breeze

Tripping over mountain tops and skipping over seas, I come no one knows from where, And bring tidings of spring’s coming, As it were,

To the autumn weary birds, Lining their nests with the silver Of white lilies.

Gently do I stroke the petals Of the tulip and the rose, Lest their stems should bend under my weight.

When a poet breaks into song With the frenzy of love’s sorrow, With his breath I join my own.