927. Let’s sing with cuckoos in the morn vales,

SONNET 927
By JH Sayyar
Let’s sing with cuckoos in the morn vales,
Where drops lace the grass in silver thread,
And scent of hawthorn rides the wander gales,
While light and laughter from the skies spread.
The hills rejoice with every echoing tune,
As brooks keep time with ripples soft and clear,
And daisies dance beneath the eye of noon,
In rhythms only nature’s heart can hear.
Come; let our voices join the feathered choir,
And wake the woods with songs of tender cheer,
With joy that sets the soul and sky on fire,
And drives away the shadows cold and drear

O my love, in singing, let our spirits rise
Like cuckoos’ calls beneath the open skies.