Submissive shadows of the night flee like frightened children
As the sun rears it's incandescent face to kiss that of the earth's.
A quiet dew rests contently in it's grassy green crib
And it does not stir.
The birds have since congregated
To wake the earth with their sweet songs of worship
Poo-tee-weet!
So the sun and the earth meet and make love
as passionately and as curiously as when time began
oblivious to the ever-envious stars
that they chase away.
Good Morning.
It's broken, so they say.