Morning

Morning
by dan ankers


Morning comes
the buzz-saw hums
whoops you call those birds
My head is sore
it's after four
and now the sun it yearns
To be renewed
receding moon
the day calls out her name
And with a roar
she can't ignore
the sun shall have his way
But afterlong
he'll soon move on
her time will come again
And if the trend
nocturnal zen
this evening follows I
I will be there
to watch her fair
white figure cross the sky