The Morning Poem by Hannington Mumo

The morning is full of life,
The kind that makes one forget every ounce of past strife;
The type that imbues you with a tasty mood,
Until you swear to live for foul or for good.

The sun glitters a bit,
And its beams caress soft and sweet,
Until you think death a mirage,
And life endlessly large.

Methinks a thousand morns such as these,
And a couple such beams of the sun, if you please,
Are the Creator's secret rewards at the end
For those that resist evil's bent!