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The first light spills across the sill
It warms the desk it wakes the quill
The air smells new the sky feels near
The morning speaks for all to hear
The curtains breathe the glass runs bright
The trees sway slow in tender light
And in the glow you start to know—
How fresh begins can softly grow
You say the soul should face this way
To greet the sun at break of day
To let each dawn renew the thread
That pulls our dreams from night’s own bed
By dusk the glass reflects the west
The light grows warm the air feels rest
And still the east will wait unseen—
For one more morning’s golden lean
