Morning

I left in the sleepy in-between time of the morning;
when the moon was on her way to bed,
and the sun had just hit snooze.
The colors drifted through the sky,
lazy, uninhibited, beautiful.

It was a time of day I’d grown to love.
No matter how hesitant the sun was to rise,
or how slow the moon was to go to bed,
the morning always came.

And so I knew it would be with me,
with my changes slow and small.
As painstaking as sunrise can be,
the morning always comes.


This one doesn't feel done yet, but the beautiful thing about the internet is that I can edit it when I figure out what it needs.