The sound of birds’
First speech, sweet,
Uncluttered, announce
The dawn. The coming
Of the morn is not far,
Poised. The sky, raw,
Still charms the moon.
Nocturnal trees stand
Motionless in the depths
Of sleep as soft winds
Come and go blowing like
A gentle giant snoring.
The dew rests on petals
And grass like the tears
On cheeks, to be wiped away
Before the notice of prying eyes.

Copyright © 2013 Shainbird. All rights reserved.


About Shainbird

"A lonely craftsman putting one word after another."
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Dawn

  1. cindy knoke says:

    simply lovely!! what a talent!!

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