Beneath The Morning Sun
J
Jayne Louise Davies
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A brisk breeze,
Blows steadily,
Through the trees so green,
The apple trees,
They sway with ease,
There is much to see.
A cute young sparrow,
Hops about,
Outside my open door,
He's looking for some scraps again,
I'll just throw out some more.
He takes a piece of bread I see,
So gingerly he treads,
I see him almost everyday,
He loves to be well fed.
And off he goes,
Along the way,
His day is nearly done,
I'll see him soon,
Another day,
Beneath the morning sun.
Jayne Louise Davies
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