I wake to bleary skies at dawn
And lie silent, hearing time
Pass by unhurriedly, ticking each step
Towards the sun’s green morning.
I wait for the seeping of Life
Across the slumbering world.
I rise to face a bustling world:
Here, there, everywhere, people await the dawn
While preparing for the life
Of the day; clocks tell of differences in Time
Counting down to sunrise and morning
Each tick, each click an ominous step
Towards the future. The toddler’s step
Is tentative, opening upon a world
Of a freshly-spiced midnight-morning:
Half past six is when the dawn
Is past, says the Old One, Time;
The worker swarms about his busy life.
The intertwining of past futures in Life
Tempts the devil, who with each step
Lures another soul closer to the gate of Time
And the fiery, dark world
That he rules over: he decrees no dawn,
And there will be no morning.
Each time I see a new day’s morning
I mull over some aspect of my life
To be driven to act? or wait for the dawn
Of friendly affections; and love’s step
Tells me sweetly of the former. Crucify the world
At the silent, stony grave of Time.
I watch the clock sweep lanes of Time
And deeply love the harmonies of morning,
While I look through french windows at the world.
Each butterfly, each cricket, each life
In my garden, I breathe in as I step
Down the rocky path into the rising dawn.
It is darkest at dawn, in advent of morning,
Which Time showers blessing upon, while Life
Takes an apprehensive step towards the dreary world.