Early birds around the morning Falls,
sing awake those sleeping dolls,
a serenade of chirping most pure,
nature's irresistable waking lure.

The snow-White gown of night's widow,
graces Targossas walking towards tomorrow,
following red sun rising high,
a daunting climb towards the sky.


Dancing sunlights in mid-day Falls,
where the Morningcloak enthralls,
elegant as a fullgrown swan,
the first warm kiss of a new dawn.

Liquid gold too fast to catch,
shimmering with a beauty quite hard to match,
refreshes the slumbering sense,
as a remedy to many muscles tense.


Fleeting stars within the midnight Falls,
at times when the moonlight calls,
to see mysteries like nightfire butterflies,
it watches the world's waltz with silvered eyes.

Under that brilliant nightsky,
the waters reflect diamonds in swirling dark dye,
drowning in serene gazes of all those onlooking beauties;
both full grown women and sweet little cuties.

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Miraman, in the year 652 AF.