There is a propriety of morning
that appears denied to the rest of day,
escaping Luna’s grasp the sun can sing
in a voice deep in prayer and yet at play.

The lives that quietly left in the night
are balanced by the days measure of births
but at dawn when the sun throws off its light
plants and man reach deeper into the earth.

Stare at the sky defiantly and dare
the day to bring its worst, not caring, we
having greeted the dawn in silent prayer,
we steel ourselves to what we will soon see.

Morning has that moment when battles cease
and all is silence in the too brief peace.

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