Dawning

Derek Kirk

I’ve missed the Sun.


She slowly set

and took with her

a certain breath


of life,

and dream,

and action.


Slowed.


Reflect on each

still passing.

Still.


Still sleep should come

and reaffirm

what day does not.

A slumber yearned.


So, nod,

and know,

where dreamers go


is learned

from loss

of sunshine.


Snow.


That gentle flake

of passing time.

No one’s to keep,

and never mine.


It goes,

and goes,

forever still,


‘till darkness

drowns

in moon shine.


Chilled.


But daybreak last

returns her zeal.

Her Gentle Grace

is all I feel.

 

The Vulcan Writers

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram

©2020 by The Inkwell.