Just an Old Codgers poem of an early morning in the country.

The meadow

The night gave way to the early morn; it struggled to keep the cloud cover wrapped around itself.
It was then, in between sleep and awake fullness. A ray of sunlight punched a hole through the crumpled blanket of cloud, spotlighting a patch of green meadow.

Invisible hands of Mother Nature gently rolled back more of the warm covering, the nights eiderdown as it lay snugly over the King sized bed named Earth.
The morning sun rose from it's
hiding place behind the great Great Tor mountain, which always drew the eye to the Eastern skyline.

The green meadow was now blending itself with the lands copse, and harrowed fields as night shook off the last of its dark dreamland.
Sol, now fully glowing against a background of reds, pinks, yellows of every hue as it crowned the mountain with a golden orb.

Morning mist began to gather in the low land where daisy’s grew. Clumps of Daffodils nodded in the direction of their trumpets, while Blue Bells formed a pathway, to guide the early morning hiker to the wood near Benbows farm.

It was going to be a beautiful day, teaming with all that nature had to offer to all who had eyes to see, and minds to understand,for Mother earth would not force upon those her secrets who's minds were closed to her gifts.