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Poetry

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Poetry: Morning

It's so quiet before the dawn;
Predators have taken to the shadows
and the diurnal still need more
Reassurance.

Dark is blending its colours
On the palette, finding the hue still wanting.
Rusty-green background with
brownish-grey clouds are not
What children wish to dream on.

But be patient.
Soon all will be blue with white
Cotton balls changing into animals.



Look! Blue above, gold at the horizon.
Securely, the animals of the day have arrived,
with their bustle and noise,
their coffee and toys.

But I still have a secluded niche
amongst the singing nests of the trees.

Why is it 'the crack' of dawn?
Day doesn't meekly peek through a crack -
It cracks open the heavens to pour the rays
that lay all bare.

But there are still islands of shadows -
harboring,
holding,
waiting.

Learn more about this author, Linda Barnett.
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Poetry: Morning

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