Of A Morning White || An Original Poem

Of A Morning White

Though at six the sun is orange and red,

I've observed that by seven it can be said

It shines both luminous and bright-

Like the moon- a light of piercing white.

It wakens the dew in the pasture broad,

And sets to revival the grasses and sod.

It answers the glisten to settle on leaf...

All but for a moment that's steady and brief.

The first to see the alarm was a bird,

And many would say her song may be heard

Before the sun barely peeps into the lid

Of the earth's waking eye, the darkness to rid.

A fresh clipping breeze, yet unwarmed by the sun,

Is felt, and makes the feet wish they could run,

Or stand still, and let the wind whip as it will

To brush off the old, and with all new things fill.

Close the blinds and your eyes and you'll miss warm surprise

Held within the majestic and state of sun's rise.

Oh, open them, open them! Ready your way!

God uses the morning to beckon the day!