VIII
I love going out at first light
When everything is still
And the roads are lined with sleeping cars
In the early morning chill.
The windows are all frosted
With an icy opaque glaze
As the waking sun struggles through
Veils of misty haze.
Spiders' webs are picked out
With beads of diamond dew
And the eastern sky's a-blush with
An embarrassed rosy hue.
On the lawn are scattered
Glistening rainbow-bright gems;
Now sapphire, now emerald, now ruby
They tremble on slim grassy stems.
As dawn is such a lovely time
I do wish I knew why
I seldom seem to get outside
'Till the sun is fairly high.
April 1988
