It was nearly morning. The ills
of night slowly pushed aside
for the presence of day.
Sleep and dreams mended
indifferences; the result would
be eye opening.
The laurels of day were yet to be
placed on the shoulders willing to
challenge.
Time became the perfect order,
like an orchestra blending its
beginning into forming a storm
of music, full of gusts and tributes.
Each day is a new path. A discovery
of words and expressions as day
reacts to the pulling of night and its
shadows just hours away.
Roger Singer 