DAWN   2021-03-20

The mornings lie quiet, barely awake,
Cool calm air slides in over my deck.
A dove struts across bragging her break,
Of gray-white breaths welcome here.
A squirrel visits chewing full neck,
Sweet cones no cream sparkles left,
On rime holding taste of pine speck.
Gentle beams caress the yawn of dawn.
She stirs to kiss me and drape across
Velvet still hanging over the edge of her calm.
Morning in my soul pulling away the moss.
Rise gentle she wisps whispers my quaking brow.
Tomorrow again and again you will know,
Me. Ever new, ever old, ever on your soul.

B. T. Whittaker