I'm at a crossroad where the sun passes.
Unlocking secrets kept behind golden latches.
A branch submerged in frozen molasses;
Set free to run across vintage grasses and glistening patches.
The earth reflecting clouds; the trees bare and reaching.
A picturesque moment of pure and flawless teaching.
An organic surface, where the printed shadow sits.
Warmth in my hands, cold air caressing their fingertips.
My morning conscience is the puzzle piece that fits.
An everlasting canvas which never rips.
Through the shades, through the window, through the omniscient response.
Standing faithful in creation; mindful, and loving every nuance.
By: Dayne M. Rohn
