By Dark Angel
Date: 1 March 2001
Dawning Hope
The blue grey line
of sleeping trees
poised above the silver
of the waking pond
the slow rising mists
like spirits
in a slow motion waltz
the cry of that single bird
alone in the pre-dawn dim
calling for his mate
without an answer.
The day begins
and so do I.
The creeping orange
blazing above the trees
becomes the brilliant Sol
as I struggle to become
interested in another day.
Call on, brother bird.
I will call too.
She does not answer you
and I too am without an answer.
Further around the pond
there are other callings
and answers everywhere.
Brother,
does this mean there is hope
for us too?
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