A whisper in the Woods, a rustle amongst the Trees, trickling rain drops, a painting of the Clouds on a cold morning Sky, a cup of coffee with the rising Sun, a glimpse of the morning Rays filtering through the Leaves, a fist full of the cool earth, the clattering of the horses' hooves as they trot by, the plaintive notes of the Cuckoo with the first Rain, the crow of the Cock at the hint of Dawn, a brush of the east Winds as you laze by the water front, the sounds of the alive jungle as you tread by, the gliding swallows on a breezy day and the swaying trees dancing to the zephyr; then what is Life, if not Poetry in Motion.
