Still, beneath a soft-lit sky
Of pale, grey clouds where songbirds sing,
Pale lilies droop; flowers dye
The ground with hues of sun and sky;
And blossoms of gentian blue
Delicately lift their heads high.
Rose leaves shadow lush, green grass
Which whispers soft as creatures pass.
A turtle stalks, a crevice
Cutting with his bulky, hard mass
Among the supple grass blades
That bend and spring as he passes.