by Gideon Burton
With shredded halos sunrise dews the grass.
The crickets sleep; the starlight yields to mute
pastels that curtain earth with airy mass
as yawning birds uncase their throaty flutes.
No hovering moon to freshen lovers’ sighs,
no cloak of blackness hides their furtive hands.
Whoever wakens early, wakens wise,
yhey say, as though a partner to a plan
as flowing cool as milk between the berries,
the ones that tartly wake me with the juice
of finished rest. The haze of sleeping tarries,
enough to put imagined worlds to use.
The blurry threshold's vapored with the dawn;
yet slowly from the night to day I'm drawn.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License. Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - aussiegal