© Kapsata

Come! to me mine champs,
Let's pilgrimage down the memory lane,
To the times of morning paradise.

To a yellow glare of the Sun,
Casting its Spears past the Specks,
Of the valley's clouds.

A glow, a lightness, then an explosion,
As the Sun arise from the tips,
Of the blue-greeny mountains.

To the Seraphic enriching dulcet
Sounds from the roosters,
As a flight of wild doves twinkle in Land,
To the hills beneath the blue skies.

Across the thatched roofs
arose a white smoke,
The pat of Corns from the kitchen
Exploding and seducing our salivary glands,
With Rich smell of them,
From the cooking pot.

Coming in haste was Dawn
as the World was awakening
From its Slumber.