In The Low Blue Light, Giraffe Poem by Kewayne Wadley

Sunrise gives birth to the seeds that sow the trees,
And gives purpose for the flower to reach for the sun,
The angels, with powdery fingertips,
How the bees mock their touch as they spread their pollen,
Their footprints are left across the sky, for all to see,
The angels whom watch the birds sing their songs,
With high pitch lulls,
They beckon for one another,
As through their song,
They call to one another,
The sea sways backs and forth, awakening each wave that softly splashes against each other,
They too hear the song of the birds,
A soothing orchestra,
As each wave softly strums the next,
Feeding each thought that courses from the streams,
That make it complete,
A pasture of cerulean that matches the one in the sky,
A mirror of emotion shown, once the sky rains down its tears,
Longing for the touch of something so deep,
A hemisphere that longs to be whole,
In the reflection of itself