A poem about a morning visit to the garden

In the early morning dawn a garden walker
shivers, like a rose upon dew ground
drops of silence enter neath' a watchful gaze
as I wonder where the sun is
I shudder in the none
inside this secret garden, where I sit still as glass ;

Diddle doddle goes the first bird of morning
as he aims to please with colors rich and bright
swiveling and singing
chirping and gurgling
I'm smoothed by the sound of his pure find
beneath the blush of morning
God's first rose appears
to bloom ,inside my heart like sweet perfume.