August Morning
Sky
Roseate sheep
crowded against eastern sky,
Waiting to be
herded by morning into the horizon,
The sky was a
splendor, rendering all existence in beauty.
But this
tableau, this gift of morning, was dynamic,
Ever-changing,
ever-shifting, ever-sliding,
Sheep morphing
into bands, bands into lines,
Lines into
pastel shards of gossamer beauty.
Soon, timed by
earth’s great turning,
Sun revealed its
glorious self,
Banishing sheep,
chasing color,
Filling morning
with its own fierce beauty.
--July 8, 2013
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