and morning, she comes again
bright behind the green tempest
and warning of tempers past
like feet they have scampered across the given meadow
without regard
to the entangled clover
set just so the tiniest nymph
can know her way home
when the fire rages
with a scorching demand
and gravel grits
through the hands of the losing masters
morning, she has always been here
right behind the lurking ones
hiding not in the cloak they give her
wiser ones have come to play
on her hills
to seek the flowers of her valley
and to stir delight with laughter
as she mocks the mocking ones
one after another
until they are but specks in their own eyes
and then sweet morning pretends to fly
only to hover just under cover of the butterfly's crown
where no deceit can live.
JAH give us the morning and all her children's glory that we may return you the gift.