James G. Piatt: A Sonnet to Dawn

The dawn seen through old memories and mist
Seeps down the mountain at the hint of the sun
And the day is brightened with light’s first kiss:
All while the land is painted with colors spun,

I watch pure white clouds form in the sky,
Listen to the warbling of small colorful birds
As they sit self-importantly in trees so high,
Trying to compose songs with tweeting words:

I silently pray that more days like this will come,
To this old man with wrinkles and aching frame,
Whose faded years, add up to quite a large sum,
And breath comes heavily with heart to blame:

Then as the sun moves high above land and sea,
I dream, of tomorrows, sitting under a tree.


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