The dawn glows in oranges and blues
In a myriad of warm and cold hues
Like a gust, the flesh it chills
But with warmth, the heart it fills.
The dawn is arcane, only few know
The waking of fowls, their songs, but oh!
The dawn is eclipsed by its beholder’s mind
For whatever formosity in it, one may find,
Is tinted a shade darker, or one grey
By the viewer’s woe or emotions fey.
The human’s heart may the horizon climb
Out of dreams and swevens, at a crepuscular time
To find the Sun chasing their chest
Easterly pursuing their dismal West.
At such a pursuit, one may run their eyes,
As they slowly sit and sip the sunrise.
Dawn