Sunrise
Sunrise, a painting becoming
visible, on the horizon.
Up it goes each morn,
Till the dew disappears.
The sun has risen high in the sky,
Like a beacon of light.
The warmth of the day is here
to delight.
Till nightfall descends,
The end of the day paints
the western sky.
And twilight vanished into night.
Copyright 2008
Anne Rutherford
Poems From The
Heart Series
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