Predawn Dwellers

All things await the sun.

As I walk amongst the predawn dwellers,

the white winged perched and ashen mourning,

the dark sky weakens, grays

like long lit charcoal.

The little beings, winged and wide eyed,

witness calm the crescents dim descent

to morning's deepening tide,

submerging also each the chards surrounding.

Awake and warbling slight, each awaits,

along with every tree

beneath their little feet,

about their lighted breast,

that listening turns their leaved and lavish branches

east to greet the lift of midnights leaden shawl,

and rise of morning's lantern.

The sky too is shifting,

shy in shadowed shades.

It's eastern crest has turned the strangest blue,

rainbowed wide with strips of primrose,

layers thin, yet vast of violet.

It waits, as does every mile facing

westward charging, yet unchanging.

Its final chards submerge,

mutely making way for mornings star

which upward pulls with steady pace.

The predawn dwellers shift,

their voices calling,

just as sudden every branch begins to lift,

as all things waking rise, reflecting

each the great sun's restless dawning.

Its then the sun alights

and instant cresting east ignites

to render what of late was painted

purple lined with primrose,

all to patterns gold and life-lit

leapt and giving calm

it's live-long blessing

far amongst the dwellers all

who now alight in wing

and joyous song.