When The Day Comes O'er The Hillside

As the day rides o'er the hillside,
A violet-primrose, subtle plash;
Galloping, gleaming, glowing day-tide
In gilded sunlit charging dash.
Wherein the light soaked early morn
Sun streaks blissly dance at will;
A single cloud, detached, forlorn,
Drifting by above the hill.  

A silhouette, a hovered bird,
A cameo shadow in the east,
Reposing, high, without a word
Silent, searching for his feast.
As far below him field mice scurry
Darting in/out twixt the grasses;
Hiding out and all a-flurry,
Laying low till peril passes.

Salmon leaping in the stream
Rippled splashes touching down.
Starting off the day's regime,
Glinting tones of golden brown.
Chasing off the last of night,
In the contest daybright wins;
Triumphant with the cool first light
Here is where the day begins.