January In Georgia

Six a.m. Sunday morning Are the angels still sleeping? A pagan wouldn't know The streets are quiet Frozen in cold blackness Steam rises from frantic heating units Dreams are lost in the expansive sky Soon the sun will rise Laying pallor on the beautiful night Washing away the solitude of the stars Most of humanity will come to life While some like myself will fade away Waiting again for the moon to join our side To lead us again through the winter night