Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Early Morning

Brushing aside cold, dewy leaves
tentative rays glimmer softly;
in their wake a promise of day.

Gentle wind blows through the silent trees,
gusts send dead brown leaves up, wildly.
In myriad movements they play,
dance, then fall. Then another breeze...

The night is now a memory
and day is here to stay. For now.

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