Winter Morn


I watch with soft desire,
the rhythm of night
pulsate to the dance of dawn.

Moist kisses of dew on flowers,
deep fever of perfume
exhaled in the breath of morn.

Birds set crisp sky ablaze,
wispy wings of velvet
embrace friendly currents.

Ripples explore lake bounds,
tickle shoreline pebbles
with a giggle of, “catch me if you can.”

Winds stir the whisper of trees
carrying their voice of promise
to a re-creation.

This time most sacred,
window of eternity
transparent to the human soul.
 
By D. Harrison
 


Copyright – D. Harrison Jan. 1999