Awakening
Let me see the miracle every forenoon,
Your dark hair turning slowly into gold
While the lark expels the night’s gloom,
The unseen goldsmith in his stronghold
uncovers you slowly with his sharp beam,
as fleeting words refresh the last dream.
When sleep is away, do you also greet
The day while our eyes open and meet?
Copyright © João Camilo | Year Posted 2012
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