in the chill of morning,
when the sun is at its rise,
and light grows in the east,
in the west, the full moon dies.

my cheeks are touched by cold,
with my fingers feeling numb,
I raise my arm above my chest,
blotting moon out with my thumb.

the trees are black and barren,
now stripped of any leaves,
they still have symmetry,
though they have lost their "sleeves."

outlined against the sky,
they're still a lovely sight,
dark in the morning's glow,
they're shedding off the night.

the silence of the coming day,
is refreshment to my soul,
gaining peace in solitude,
fulfilling my own role.