Wheat

Upon the airy plain of morning's tangerine sky
the soul sips the savory honey of euphoria's citrus,
it seeps into the spirit as the seeds of hope's amber grains
taking sprout deep into the furrows of the heart's soil,
producing a crop of bounty in expectation's wheat,
that is milled as manna for the mind, which nurtures desire's appetite.

Inhaling the zephyr wind, scented with anticipation's revitalizing breath,
there rises over the field within the inspiring mirages of possibilities.

Reaping as purest ecstasy all the sacks of tomorrow's imagined
for baking the bread, willingly devoured as resolve's breakfast.