The day is coming to life

With all its breathless sighs

And pretty murmurs

Subtle chimes adrift upon the wind

Birds crying out of the shadows

Taking wing into the skies

As the sunrise creeps in

And swallows the fleeing night

These ancient rituals, this endless cycle

The colours bleed into the horizon

Once again, the coolness of midnight

The moonless, timeless black is left behind

But the clouds

The hours of loneliness

The echoes of silence and the darkness

Are never out of sight

Nor ever far from mind

© Ann Bagnall