Purple Morning
In the eloquence of this purple morning,
I am watching the tree lines embroidered
across the mountain.
They are stark black in outlines as
the water color of dawn barely glances
above the hills.
When the sun comes, it is too harsh
for the morning glories....
Their damp eyes close slowly.
They seek a pink and purple sleep
and wait for evening.
I have been up for hours and know the way
that some flowers close against the
tough regimen of days.
I have watched others, like daffodils,
awaken, unworried by warmth,
opening with sunny charm.
I am torn between reluctance and chance,
the soft fold of vulnerability
or the strength of bold resolve.
Each, lying as they do,
in the personal awakenings
of the individual heart.
In the eloquence of this purple morning,
I am watching the tree lines embroidered
across the mountain.
They are stark black in outlines as
the water color of dawn barely glances
above the hills.
When the sun comes, it is too harsh
for the morning glories....
Their damp eyes close slowly.
They seek a pink and purple sleep
and wait for evening.
I have been up for hours and know the way
that some flowers close against the
tough regimen of days.
I have watched others, like daffodils,
awaken, unworried by warmth,
opening with sunny charm.
I am torn between reluctance and chance,
the soft fold of vulnerability
or the strength of bold resolve.
Each, lying as they do,
in the personal awakenings
of the individual heart.
