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Poetry By StarFields

Bright Morning

The morning arose
like the ghost of a morning
with silver bright mists
and shadows awry
the sun shone so meekly,
resistant and weakly
while the birds gentle call
did receive no reply.

Shape shifting time
enfolded me gently,
a cloak of tomorrows
yet to be born;
a veil of things past
that drifted with sorrow
lost loves and lost days
I never did mourn.

Until a fine wind
touched me gently and lightly,
caressed my cheek,
it played in my hair -
Thus the day was revealed,
the morning smiled brightly,
and all I could see
was perfect, and fair.

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