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The honeydew sun of sweeter skies

drips dawn with dew-departing eyes.

As restless ravens flirt and fall

silhouetted by the morning waterfall,

the settled fog hides barren land

and crashing churning desert life -

the joyful tremor of dying strife.

For as the day slips through the trees

remarking on the leave-laced breeze

the dust blows into family holes:

the burrowed home of moles and voles.

There is a music underneath:

the rhythmic beats and scratching strums,

melodic harmonizing hums.