At last is this the morning that I seek?
To be awoken to the sunlit skies?
The morning melodies of the bird’s beak?
To end slumberous thoughts of dreams and lies?

The dew this morning wet between my toes
The chill of air not warmed yet by Sun’s rays.
Are these the gifts to which my soul arose?
Or like the morn am I still in a haze?

The brightness of the Sun turns the moon pale,
As life responds with cacophonous stir.
Do I have clarity to now set sail?
To leave the dark and dreadful, as it were?

But lo, a Sun that’s high above the sea,
Shall not be morn till you’re in love with me.