So Sing of Dawn

O'er a drink on a stormy night, man might recall with eyes aglow, deeds earning tales of his might, Wishing that time had passed more slow. O'er a glass of sweet red wine, a woman who has seen some years, might reminisce on evenings fine, of lovers begging for her tears. But both see beauty that has passed, the story spelt on tapestry. Both of them to the very last, are drawn by what turned out to be. Dusk, so regal; twilight hues, paint life without the space for clues, so sing of dawn, that brilliant song, that is the well for which we long! For 'tis the power-veined vibrancy, the health, the passion, and the race, that quicken life's brief harmony, sifting the grief out from the grace. Yet more than mere ability, 'tis hope that lends the morn her crown. For even more than what we see, 'tis what we dream that steals renown. So sing of dawn, when paths still lie, uncertain, hidden by the hills, for nothing is more fair to the eye, than chance to which the heart appeals. 16 July 2018 Written for "Dusk Or Dawn" contest, sponsored by "Emile Pinet"