The willow weeps a warning.
Holly sleeps the morning.
New day creeps around a tree,
peeps at Mister Moon and me.
Night sweeps slowly out of view,
seeps deep into the foggy dew
... the soggy, sloggy, boggy dew.
The raindrops on the pinebark glisten.
Lark is in the larkspur, listen.
Mark the bullfrog anvil chorus,
a patriarchal choir before us.
As darkness slowly turns to blue
sunlight sparkles through the dew
... the groggy, logy, froggy dew.