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Morning Glory
Oh, tender, little morning-glory
Reaching for the sun,
On slender vines you twist and climb
Ere, soon your days are done.
You tarry not, but make good haste
Of every passing hour;
Though rain and shine would claim your prime,
You clothe yourself in flower.
Though not bold, nor very rare,
Your blooms show purest blue;
Inside those spheres, collected there,
Shine drops of heaven's dew.
Little glory you grace the morn
With the beauty you bestow;
See not you, the moth nor thorn
In the garden where you grow.
Oh, tender, little morning glory
Reaching for the sun,
You surpass the other flowers
Each and every one.
'Morning Glory' won Honorable Mention and was published in SKAT magazine.
Learn more about this author, Athlyn Green.
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Poetry: Optimism
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