Morning Glory
Ah, morning glory, such internal blush,
defy the penetration of brash sun.
Oh, linger, trumpet of dawn within the dim
or haze of mid-morning's overcaste.
Oh, fairest of the fair, your milk white core
doest blush forth, a brim of purple poise
one pinked with the cheek of infancy,
the soft and silken skin of new born day.
Ah, let your vine entwine the aged arch.
Then, let the arbor, regal, drip delight.
Your limpid leaves all faint with August’s heat,
leaves like hands ‘tween fingers now enfold.
Oh, only heaven knows more of beauty
than the morn you blessed with this glory.
Birthday: September
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