Dawn

 The lakeside soft in mists
vapours cross the waters,
dawn in all her glory
lies with the lilies,
her mantle for a pillow.
Swans  necks entwine
in silent chorus;
a breeze above the trees
does not stir the branches.
The fire before the tent
brews tea for breakfast
scents of apple wood
incense rising to the sky.
She turns her head,
her shoulders raised
slyly shows her breast,
with pride sees his
hands upon her thighs
smiles acquiescence
taking comfort from his weight
to be, with him, content.