Dawn

O'er the dying night hangs a ghostly silence Punctuat'd by the nocturnal chirping of the crickets And the ghostly melody of the wind Moving thro' the trees From slumber's comfort Has Aurora been awoken to a morn of mournful weeping Tearfully she opens the gates of the heavens To let the steeds of Apollo's fiery chariot Begin their diurnal westward journey As the pall of night begins to lift off The grotesque yet graceful silhouettes Of the trees of the rain-forests of the South Begin to emerge against the black-blue dawn sky As they are bestow'd upon With an early bath by Aurora's tears To the Occident Cynthia's orb flees For it dares not confront Apollo's chariot, Gracefully Apollo begins his journey from the Orient, Gradually he rises from beneath The waters of the Niger, Illuminating the Niger, Making it look as if it were liquid gold Gradually, Apollo's chariot ascends Into the multitude of the clouds Transforming them into an awe-inspiring blend Of deep orange and azure And later into a vast scenery Of orange clouds against a bright blue sky The old farm cock, its diurnal message Crows aloud to those still asleep "RISE UP O YE SLUGGARDS FOR THE DAY HAS BEGUN !"