There's a new birth of green

In the heavenly golden hour,

The finest that I've ever seen

Seeking a satisfactory pour.

 

The sun's out and about,

The clouds aren't in a rush,

A ray is absorbed by a trout

In the mid-morning hush. 

 

Melodies end the silence

When certain birds and flies

Breakout of the broad fence

To paint the panoramic sky.

 

A distant whirring sound,

Much slower, yet ferocious,

Is recognised by the ground

Before the peers get cautious;

 

There's a new birth of green 

In the heavenly golden hour,

Which hasn't yet heard or seen

The severing little lawn mower.