This Early Morning
This morning,
the sun-rise dapples bright yellow hues
onto the dark green leaves,
creating a lemon-lime splash.
The trees are still after a brief, breezy, sober night. The cool air chills the skin.
This morning
the birds are unseen, though their greetings, their songs, delight.
The trees within which they twill
reach for the sky, for each other..
they are of a lavish Summer flush;
they feel honored to be so adorned
by the Sun,
to wear such a golden effulgence.
Though they remain watchful, on guard.
This morning,
a shy cricket or two meekly chants.
This morning,
the windows of the apartments quietly refract the sunlight; their egg-shell-white blinds sleep.
This morning
is of a painting, oils of mellifluous sky colors.
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2021
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