Day never forgets to wake up on time,
however scorched or burnt was night-
that it never slept, or that it cried.

Blessed are dew drops,
these retainers of pain-
a gloss on this grass, till it is dry.

It is great they are there
in this green world of hurt emotions
as shiny pretense, or affections implied.

They look at the morning
through expectant, hazel eyes.
The day has given its word to be gentle and light.

It won’t ask what happened, what was the truth,
or who had lied. It has a lot to do, is in hurry-
all it can say is:
“Sleep well till I meet you again, my restless night”