Pine

Birdsong beckons as the world axes,
It's way into the prying light,
And as the aurora gives to rays,
That wrest open organs of sight,
Then the fog of dreams burns away,
Our senses kindle and ignite,
And presently regrets will stir,
In the soft ebbing of the night.
At day break,
Dreams slake.

And as the consciousness congeals,
Myriad thoughts freshly imprint,
Even as the windows of the soul,
Weakly resist in hapless squint,
As the cool dew burns away,
An early morning autumn glint,
Reveals the world freshly dying,
In seasons both velvet and flint.
Morning light,
Seems contrite.

Still, something in the morningtide,
That something in each new birth,
Wakens dormant Rip Van Winkles,
To breathe the beauty of the earth,
To find there still is a longing,
For love — where love is in dearth,
And even though the moment fleets,
The salve opens eyes to the worth.
Sunrise sign,
Bread and wine.

Breathe,
Stay,
Pine.