IT'S ONLY MORNING

IT’S ONLY MORNING

It’s only precious morning, sneaking across the plains.
An early dose of sunrise, a smattering of rain.

I rise to taste the maiden dew that sits in silence on the grass
And build my dreams of innocence on days and moments past.

It’s only gentle morning with its quiet, subtle cheer,
That wakes me to the happiness of friends that gather near.

It’s only morning, sight for sore eyes, dreaming of a time.
When young and old will count as bold
Her deep and delicate designs.

It’s only morning, like a wet nurse to my aching heart,
Ministering to the fragments true,
The remnants of what once was art.

Sing her praises loud and long, buried ‘neath the blackbird’s song,
And raise the eyes to search the sky, while hopes and dreams go flying by.

It’s only gentle morning and nothing really left to fear,
The empty pockets of the lost, this strange and desolate hemisphere.
It’s only morning, that falls from heaven like a wayward leaf,
Reminding us that time is short and life so very brief.

We hold to life with precious might, we sometimes sink beneath its weight,
We drink the chalice ‘til its dry, until the palate satiates.
Until we get an inkling, until we get a clue,
Of both the wisdom age can bring and the damage time can do.

For now the good outweighs the bad and so we wake and so we rise,
As Aurora drives her chariot across these golden skies.
And as my love and I, we watch the sun come sweeping ‘cross the plains,
We reminisce on days of bliss, the coolness of a morning rain.

-Bruce Potts
Copyrighit 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED