Morning: a poem

“Those who dwell among the beauties and the mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life.” – Rachel Carson

 

Morning

 

I caught it once,

that small, delicate pause:

a hummingbird moth

kissing a white flower

just as the last stars were fading

and the soft exhalation of the day

tumbled forth.

There was no fanfare,

no glorious sunrise –

just a quiet voice which whispered:

Listen; the earth

dreams through you.

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7 thoughts on “Morning: a poem

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