Comes the Morn

When soft comes the morn

on light’s whispers born

and dewdrops gleaming,

Earth’s bosom teeming

with waking life!

‘Tis in that moment of

dusk to dawn

when blossoms flutter

and canyons yawn,

 fingers loosen their grip

and dreams quietly slip

into folds of gray matter,

and quietly fade

as the one that was made

before the first

awakening

calls.

We fall

into the grand dream,

our sleepwalk begins.

The sunlight gleams,

Existence grins,

it’s power supreme.

Cheryl KP copyright 2017

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