Soft Comes The Morning Poem by Chris Whittle

Soft comes the morning

Soft comes the morning light
Gentle comes the day
Gathering her garments in hand
She steps across the fields
Her gaze dwells upon the sea
Bright eye burning down
Like gazelles upon the veldt
She leaps and plays below
She gathers up her mists
Sailing with the winds
Sweeping down the mountains
Caressing their icy crowns
Aeons and ages fly on
Still she speaks her heart
Calling the seasons out
To dance the endless song
Fierce goes the evening light
Fiery leaves the day
Flinging her garments behind
Across the darkening sky