Morning is a glory all its own,
The hidden coming into sight.
Does not the sparrow herself call the sun over the ridge,
Each quaver an act of February faith
Till all her kin glide into the life that sustains them
And grey worlds turn to gold?
*
~ Lindsey
S. D. G.
Lovely, Lindsey! You’ve made me long for the dawns-on-the-deck once the weather warms. I too love watching the gray worlds turn to gold. (But I never could have expressed it as beautifully as you!)