Daybreak (From, Dried Flowers) Poem by Peter S. Quinn

The hour is like the morn light that comes so fine,
And gives its splendor and hope in each one;
When new is the time and minutes in sun,
Path with the first footsteps that onward shine.
Breaking up in the colors and to combine,
Clearance and the shades that never are done;
Everything that gives and goes when it’s gone,
When last of the gleaming dies with the line.

Now lay a rest for the evening to come,
The night will be dancing in wind and dreams,
And give breath away to more darker mold;
Until again freshness awakens a bloom,
And new thought emerges in downhill streams,
Everything of light no darkness can hold.