Mist ascends in morning's haze
as dreamers dare to dowse their daze,
but vapour's hold
can only fold
underneath the burning rays.
Underneath the burning bright
the goldfinch tells of her delight,
her feathered flow
is soft and slow
singing in the midst of flight.
Singing in the mid of day
the goldfinches have flown away
so too has gone
the sun who shone;
mist ascends in renewed haze.
