Cycle

The white fog, everywhere,
Behind and beneath the trees,
Covering the woods from view
Like the indian bride covers her face.
With the rays that wake the earth
The dew drops shine like jewels,
Before they die into vapour,
And rise to the sky above.
Again comes they, with the next dawn
To die again with the coming of the morn.
This is what we call a life cycle
To fall, to shine, to die and to rise.