Lady Of The Morning

She holds to her a fragile beauty of warm mystery.
Without a sound she brushes over the mountain earth.
A blanket of soothing softness to protect her treasure.
A treasure of life wrapped in the sweetest bouquet.
Where the earth thrives with the taste of richness.
She is a gentle jailer until the sun unlocks her mist. Revealing not gold or diamonds, but a bursting encasement
Of vibrant ripeness in the grapes of Napa Valley.
Yet she will not share her treasure long
Before she once more lays her love
Against the side of the mountain
Covering the vines with her delicate heart.
A protective mistress in the night. A gentle lady of the morning.

by Beth Nynas Abbate

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