The Scents of Dawn

Though tears travail in thunderous stains,
hearts we love only render their fangs and pains,
eyes can still open yesteryear's scrapbook,
to reclaim the scents of dawn that once flamed with promise.

And inhale again the fragrances of their comfort,
which gave life its joy unto that day,
the perfume so regenerating that lifted and healed,
coming in many places and many ways,
no single source sharing its aroma.

Inspiring the strength to know
the valley where camping not a deed to tomorrow,
instead holding onto the visions inhaled
from past strolls in meadows,
when flowers bloom within,
their beauty gave off a smell of anticipation
for talking another step.

So even if cactus have claimed the path,
weeds replaced the pasture's green,
they are, as any aroma merely fleeting seasons.

Within the well from which the mind drinks,
there is always the next droplet of refreshing,
a rain to drench any stain or wound.
Moving in expectancy's rush,
will to wander where thorns abound
aware they are never a place of permanent ground.