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 !"
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