The Awakening Poem by Reva Kern

Alisia and Cloris open the door wide
And awkwardly, with the back of a lazy hand
Rub moist eyes of uncertain brightness
Where flee last dreams of morning

The innocence of the day washes in the fountain
The plow idly opens a furrow
And in turn the Rectory House
The cassock of the curate gravely wanders in the garden

All sigh and laugh.
The remote placidity of the mountain
Dreams celestial routines
The bell always repeats the same note

Of the fancy of honest morning poems
And makes the swallows
Sharply cut the dawn
Like lost arrows of a defeated night.