Sonnet, The Breeze in The Air

The breeze in the air like the falling dawn,
Silent prowl through the hours that are now gone;
Each moment that from the day is withdrawn,
Flaring of the sunbeams in its cabochon.

Colors and the weavings of those fabrics,
Galloping light tenderness sweetly feel;
Wander of the shadows in their amix,
Blueness beyond clear sky early appeal.

Days without end in enchants forever,
Giving dazzling restless morning light through,
Filling the sky with rays of the newborn;

All what is gone - to be again, never,
Only the incessant shades of dim blue,
From the roots of twilight's falling forlorn.