Morning glooms with dully glowing moon.
Unknowingly we’ll soon resume
our moaning, mourning drone of doom,
and pour our flooding sorrows through the door.
Implore our sore tomorrows
to afford us more.
But long before our mumbled murmurs
A churning yearning worms its way inside--
And strives to find a brighter light,
Alive and vibrant,
Childlike with spry beguiling smiles,
amplified by wildflowers
thriving, multiplying, all the while.
While, inside, we’re warm and fine,
so why not shine and look alive,
revitalized by the time
the light arrives.