Morning, open grey-blue eyes,

Smile, blush pink, and brush the dew away

Draw the white veil from your hair

And Toss it to the breeze to keep for other nights.

Blowout the lamp that’s hanging there

Set it down behind the hills.

Beckon to the sun to come

To light the sky and break the chill.

Lift your voice and call another day.

Caress the air and breathe

A gentle song that floats away–

And listeners never hear but cries

From those who weep,

Or thunder from the skies.