Dewy December

Whispering winds, tickling the ear,
Becalmly beckoning,
Wickedly wafting the scent of fresh green grass
Laced with drops of dew.
The early bird from its hidey-hole,
Quirkily quoting, welcoming words.
Barefoot, she walks out,
In a tranquil trance, eyes heavy with slumber.
A ray of light from the rising sun,
Touches her face, in a curious caress.
A wistful sigh, pierces the quiet,
As her serene smile at the snoozing snail
Lights up the sky.
She steps onto the grass, and squeals with pleasure,
Soaking her feet, in the diamond-like treasure.
Cadently cajoling, the cuckoo calls,
The mysterious mist in its hazy falls;
She wraps her cloak tight around her,
Walks forward into the foggy maze,
Challenging it with eager eyes,
Answering the tempting tease.