The Quietist Hour 2
The quietest hour
Has come
And gone
Along with the
Still Darkness
All night long
A bird call now and then
Heralds the waking day
As the sky
Is licked orange
By the rising sun
The coldness
Of darkness
Turns into
Morning cold air
That still wants
To wrap you
To maintain the
Misere
Which makes
It easier
To accept the
Warm comfort
Of the night nest
Rather than
Take that first step
To acknowledge
The new day
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