Day is breaking,
And so am I.
The crickets sing, still,
But soon their song will be still and silent;
Already, it has reached a crescendo,
And begun to fade.
Dawn is blossoming from the East,
Spreading outwards like a lover’s touch
Prying open the secret, furtive parts of this world,
Revealing the weary people of the night,
Who have succeeded in their quest to brave the dark,
At least ’til morn’.
The birds have awoken,
And are flying hither and thither;
Soon, their silent wings will take them far from here,
To sing a different song
For some other poet to mournfully record.
They seem starlike,
Silhouetted against the pink streaks of dawn,
Save they are lightless,
And distinctly less distant.
Now, a seagull cries his way shoreward,
And the colors of sunrise, muted, now,
Are phantom-like and fading,
And soon, they will be forgotten
In their entirety.
Dawn has broken;
And so have I.