The last Sunday morning of Summer found Little Poplar still in dreamland. Sun Mom was shining through layers of foliages and branches, upon Little Poplar's sweet little face. What sweet dreams are you dreaming, my dear child, with your sweet dimples of a smile? Sun Mom gazed at her child, and gently, she kissed Little Poplar on the cheek. The dark and lush eyelashes shivered; the crystal-like dewdrops sparkled. And Little Poplar woke up to, with dreamy eyes, Sun Mom's bright yet tender look: Good morning, Child! Little Poplar reached out both hands to greet Sun Mom: Good morning, Mom!