The Dawn

 
The dawn crept close
and breasted sill
to spy on me awhile,
then gave a stretch
of freshened wings to
dress me with her smile.

The grey mist combed
each glistening thread,
soft frame for fresh-woke
face, reflected dawn,
then danced awry
upon my eyes instead.

The dawn crept past
and slipped from view,
soft fingers trailing still,
in slow farewell, with last
light touch, she blessed
what day would bring.

87

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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