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She comes riding early in the morning
Round about four to seven.
No one's ever out at that hour
With eyes that see
Her touch the morning flowers secretly
And the leaves slow their commotion
And the great trees gently sway
Like an ocean on a still day
And raise in praise their arms to the sun
Who announces the day has begun
At eight frames a second
And
Velvety shadows in misty meadows
Are changing colours so softly
With care the sun
Puts colour in his drawing
And rises to inspect
His masterpiece this morning
So perfect
And as she rides the gold and silver miles
Only the sun is sure
What it is that she smiles for
She leaves with no sign of what she has done
Though her morning rise known by everyone
I'll tell you her name and it's dawn.