By the pinking grace of aurora, 
The cloud rifted
And the slit in rising breath
Of rosy suffusion
Lit to life the russet dawn.
Perched on a leafy shamiana, 
The crow, the ftrst corner,
An aesthete turned,
Is cawing the inaugural
Of this rosy hour.
An egret down on the lawny floor,
Bides his breakfast hour.
For a whopping rich catch of worms.
The cat, after his rodent rounds
At night, eased of his predatory profile,
Sports in an ecstasy of roll
On the sandy spread under the lamp
The dog with no self-love,
And the boon of the feline grace,
Peeps into the bin of refuse
For crumbs to bite.
The holy oaf nibbles his herbal repast
On the spacious green at the corner site
While the ringing bells at hand 
Consecrate the dawning cadence.