The Coldest hours of the night
Are the last few hours that darkness takes.
And holds on to with all her might,
Just before the world awakes.
The hazy early morning mist,
Forms lucent masks across the land.
Turns foothills to island crests,
Surrounded by its ghostly band.
The distant stars glow like a spark,
As embers in a bed of ash.
Waiting to melt to light from dark,
When dawn throws open her sunlit sash.
The sky secretes a faded glow,
The pale blush of morning light.
And night fades from its moon lit show,
As sunrise brings the end of night.
With crimson hues the clouds now fill,
To reflect the joyful light of morn’.
The colors swirl at their own will,
To announce another day is born.
The margin of a golden sun
Crests the horizontal plane.
Light and warmth now blend as one,
As ol’ sol starts his daily reign.
From clouds the scarlet bleeds away,
‘til they appear soft shades of white.
The sky evolves to blue from gray,
And soon the earth is drenched in light.
Souls rend themselves from nightly sleep,
And life begins its endless fray.
To our daily toils, we go like sheep,
Into the chaos of another day.
© John Greenwood 2007