I heard the morning sun
Sing to the village below
Through cream-colored curtains
Her poems echo from moments ago.

I see sunflowers dance by the roadside,
Throwing sweet fumes up into the sky.
I see a dried crust of loose brown earth,
Coloring pastures where several termites
dwell in broken, collective settlements.
I see the strong tide of a river
Flow quietly along green borders.
At some point, it meets rocks
and tumbles into foamy, happy falls.
I smell tomatoes gutted, lying in the market,
And trees dancing in the powerful wind.
I see palm trees thrust and greet
This daylight—their perfect lyricist.