Still

Still

Still is this morning, 

the birth of time 

and moments 

beyond the dreams 

of a passing night, 

hushed are the whispers 

of memories, 

as the wind tickles 

the treetops, 

Dawn opens 

the sky with delight. 

For the colours 

are of meadows, 

springtime, 

blossoms across 

the sunlight 

of flowers, 

as Autumn hints 

at winter, 

in the passing chime 

of chasing hours.

And so 

another day 

begins, quietly, 

for there’s no one else awake, 

just the grey 

thinning skies 

of clouds, 

my eyes open 

to the morning, 

the first birds 

singing to the east, 

this peace 

of beauty 

of wonder, 

into my life 

to take.

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