Sunrise

Why should no other understand

That when I speak of sleeping in

I do not think, ‘til ten or noon,

But mean that when I come alive

I’ve missed that lost, forgotten time

Between the darkness and the light -

When blushing clouds come, heralding

Arrival of another day.

I’m lifted, daily, with the sun,

As it plots its upward course.

(I’m told that it’s the earth that moves,

While lazy stationary sun

Watches as the world goes by),

And, though a part of me believes,

Another waits to see it rise.

©Pamela Stead Jones 2010