A Quiet Morn
Hush-sh-sh the beat of the twilight,
the pounding of nature’s drums,
the muting of the daily trumpeting
from the quietude enveloping the hills,
the expiration of the heavy sun,
the tucking in of the tired roses,
the grasses thirsting for the dew,
the night running through the hills
as seen by the nymphs of the forest lore,
the chariots dashing through the glades
drawn by fiery horses with silent hooves,
beating silent rhythms through the darkness,
making space for imagination to enter,
melting the day into the crystal air,
into nocturnal dreams of morning flair,
falling into the lap of the poet,
voices of the trees, the spirits, the night,
the quietude, the darkness,
the spirit made audible,
divinity speaking,
bringing down heaven to earth
into the quiet of the morn
and sinking down into the
ears of the heart.
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