The Labor's Fruit Poem by Bernard F. Asuncion

J-ust let the Sunday pass,
E-arly ninth December;
R-ays Monday begin to shine,
S-igning on after slumber.
E-vening shadows disappear, night cold chill fades away;
Y-our life is truly warmed by the break of a new day.

E-xpect the beacon comes,
R-ising above the horizon;
M-ist and haze have turned
I-nto a warm fresh dawn.
T-wilight is already gone, the dark follows suit;
A-llow the dusk to vanish, harvest the labor's fruit.