Droplets of dew on tender petals every morning,
Beams of sunlight between awaiting leaves peeping,
A solitary bloom in a forlorn, unabided desert,
The breath of fulfillment after a tiring effort.
A sudden cool drizzle on a hot, humid day,
A blaze of light that blows away the misty grey,
The sorrows of the day, swept away by the canary’s song,
The exuberance of counting waves for interminably long.
The long dark night passes away into temporal oblivion,
The light of the sun just penetrating the cloud’s dominion,
And the stage is set for the greatest of all show,
As the sky is arched with the colours of the rainbow.
As we watch the resplendence of the seven colours,
A thought flashing across my mind clearly hollers,
That the reason for rainbows, like every new child born,
Is that God still has hope in mankind for another morn.