Trumpets of the Dawn

Ah, morning glory, such internal blush, defy the penetration of brash sun. Oh linger, trumpet of dawn in the dim haze of mid-morning, do not be undone. Oh, fairest of the fair, your milk white core bleeds forth to bloom a brim of violet poise, unembarrassed on the cheek of Sol's dawn. Unfurled, you toy with youthful joy employed upon the aged arch your vines entwine. Rough cut the cedar arbor drips delight as heart shaped leaves drowsy in the sun weave between like fingered hands and unite. Oh, bless the day that births such pert posies, bless the royal hues of our Morning Glories.