Emerging dappled skies,
gathered clouds brooding on high,
as blue just cracks, a puzzle unsolved,
and weary sun we cannot rely,
when winter nudges halcyon day goodbye.
And crisp the morn,
frosted windows before dawn,
as life refuse to rise,
snuggled up in burrows and nooks,
light-less dreams of warmth now took
in winter’s sweet revenge.
As blue now finds a hold,
pieces join and clouds must part as sold,
and sun in yawning, morning turning
as shards do find their way through,
golden trails that join land to heaven’s will.
So life is beckoned,
and weary minds in sunlight wake,
for sake of days possibility,
and those welcomed rays are praised
within that dewy chilled morn,
as born the day in lottery sky.
How I love this chance,
this slight of hand romance of day’s ensuing,
when struggles on high
determine the mood, the allure of expectation
on a winters morn, a fickle dawn happening.
Tony DeLorger © 2017