It's a new day, a crisp new morning.
The birds are chirping outside my window.
All the while, down the hall my mother is eating breakfast.
The aroma filling the air.
As I walk down the hall still half-asleep, My mother gently calls a good morning.
"Morning." I say.
Another morning, for not many souls know the greatness of a new day.
For that means another day survived.
As the world awakens, the infants cry for their mother to come get them.
That is the true beauty of a new day.