filtered through the morning light
amid the royal grey
Mother Sun has peeled the Night
but early fog has paved her way
slow the march toward coming Day
what light there is it seems to speak
captured by the wattling leaves
glowing with an ambrose sheen
a silent verse to quiet times
that gently hints at other worlds
where dreams aren’t made of filth
and heaven’s light deifies the dark
that dragged man back to dust
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