A pretty, young girl strolls
Among the trees and leaves
Causing grasses to straighten
After she has passed on
To fog darkened waters
That chill the early fisher,
Making him sluggish and
Regretful of leaving
The second cup of coffee.
But the pretty girl pauses,
Parts the dawn with one
Tiny hand,
Unwinds a million miles of
Ancient light,
Then curls it around her
Fingers into another skein of
Flaxen shards.
A round, fuzzy ball she tosses,
Laughing,
Into the dark.
(Published in Poetry Nottingham, England)
elysabeth faslund
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunrise-23/
