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Poetry Friday : August 26, 2016.


I never tire of the quiet peace of the early morning hour with its sleepy rhythms and sweet freshness. It is about that hour — when one day fades to a memory and the next has not yet begun — that I write.

In the early morning
When darkness is a shroud
And the song birds sleep
I awaken
And in that hour
Today becomes yesterday

The sun has not yet risen
Slumber still embraces
A train whistle blows
My dreams slip away
And in that hour
I arise

My hopes chase doubt
My faith conquers fear
Joy gives me strength
My thoughts turn to you
And in that hour
Tomorrow becomes today

© 2016 Alice Nine


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Thank you Heidi Mordhosrt for hosting Poetry Friday this week.