Wednesday, February 4, 2015

On What Morning Depends

Moon yawns,
her reflection stretching
over the ocean surfaces;
soon, Night Watch
will be over.

The tides race
to meet the morning mail:
Light upon the water,
shimmering sands
along the shore,
birds thronging and
clamoring for breakfast.

If Rosy steps the morn,
she has small white feet
that can walk on water,
and her dazzling smile
blinds one to all else.

© 2015 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen