By; John “ Speedy “ Hartman
it's a beautiful morning
to catch the beginning
of gods wonderment
the morning breath is cool
the earths exhale is slow
creating hardly a ripple
i sit i wait
not wanting to rush
the creator in his creating
the lights off a local pier
reflex off the bay
as if it were an old mirror
before the break of dawn
men and women gather
to cast their hopes to the sea
maybe they to have come
to witness a new beginning
the watch the changing of colors
for before long the new sky
turns a crimson pink
rays of light cut through clouds
as if somewhere far off in the water
searchlights were beckoning souls
a process repeated daily
soon the crimson skies
give in to blues which mixes with green
and settles into a beautiful morning
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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