It Is MorningA Poem by emme33In the
beginning there is nothing, as
creation has not had it’s wake. We rise
before the crisp of dew, greatfully, before
our feet have a chance to plunge into the dampness, the
grass is still dry.
His hand
within mine is snug, fitting
as though pieces of a puzzle. The
length of the road is not far in the darkness, At each
bend we look up at the unfolding dawn. Soon.
The
warmth absconds upon us. The sun
and the Earth marry, as we sit, watching
the mist roll by. Bountifully
it transpires against the ocean, drenching the soil, blessing
each sprout of youthful creation. We deem
it too premature for passion, no need
for expression, we remain, inaudible, against
the artwork of the rising day. © 2015 emme33Reviews
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