The day rises.
As do the blades of grass,
The flowers,
And the mists on the river.
Sunrise services are my memory,
Spelled oh so cleverly
As Sonrise.
And 6 a.m. for a little fella
Was another form of rising not hailed in any book
Or ballad.
But a family requirement that I wished would end.
He wished it would end as well.
And it did.
The longest three hours in history
That are now ours to behold.
Till we rise.
