Under the lilac canopy-like dome,
The crickets were slowly losing their hold.
The bats navigated their way back in silence,
The green of the trees woke up to gold.
The colour was mysteriously natural,
And it promised of so much more.
The larks and the myna spoke of the old times,
Their song encrypted in a mystical lore.
The breeze greeted me with its mist
And I instinctively looked north.
Smiling at the beauty unfolding,
I wondered when it was last that I had welcomed the morning with such warmth.