In the gloom of the morning sun
With the rising mist on lichen walls
When birds are mute within their nests
And spiders lounge in gossamer halls
And tucked within my sheets of warmth
Smiling in some lazy trance
I doze, I wake and doze again
Floundering on a dreamy dance.
Then ‘pon the street, I hear a scrape
And blink away my dream bizarre
Who is this at biting dawn
Braving the icy morning star?
From my window where mist collects
With each breath, as I strive to peep
Through a swirl of rising white
A figure pokes a garbage heap.
With a stick, the urchin scrapes
Foraging for a scrap to trade
A ragged scarf, a tattered shawl
Fragile armour to icy blade
Through the glass, I see her face
Long past youth yet scarcely old
Calm, enduring, and youthful spark
Summer marked by Autumn’s gold
Still, ’twas her voice which held me so
Transfixed by my windowpane
In that numbing winter’s morn
I was amazed by her sweet refrain.
“Somewhere over the night,” she sang
“My star upon the horizon gleams
“Somewhere where the rain has ceased
“Is the rainbow of my dreams.”
With calm resolve, her song found bloom
Like Morning Glory on my hedge
Soft, yet strong, her verse like dew
Baubled quartz on petal’s edge
Accompanying her hopeful tune
Her scraping stick, its music played
E’en the drooping, moistened leaves
And the lichen joined the parade.
I, within my chamber dark
Awakened now and dreams a-rending
Marvelled at her lilting song
And my time in bed a-spending.
I wondered at her crystal dreams
Shattered ‘pon a burdened spine
Yet the woman, brave in hope
Boldly sought that future line.
So, up leapt I to seize the day
No more of this languid lolling!
The sun shines bright on any man
Who spends his time in busy toiling.
Long after the dawn had passed
When day had arced the sky a measure
I recalled that dauntless flower
Morning Glory, human treasure.
