…of the dawn

The mistress of the dawn
her windswept tresses
gleaming rose and gold
drifting slowly by

her pale drowsy face
gently flushed
by the night’s caress
still lingering
like a lover’s touch

ever fading
as she sighs
clouds erupting
into the heavens
above a soft
and silent place

She casts a glance
delicate and fleeting
upon a world
still dreaming

the shadows
now retreating
gently yielding
to her soft embrace

a quiet melody flows
from trembling leaves
their whispers
awakening the earth

framed
against a fragile
translucent
canvas of blue
© Ann Bagnall 2016
Revised 2024