AUBADE

The world sits silent round the Eastern stair,
The sky grows lovely - lucid now - and calm, 
While soft fed wisps of heav`n-released air
Caress my lifted brow like soothing balm.

The tardy pennants of the night`s dark cloud
Stream from the sinking rearward of the mass,
Laggard frags of midnight`s mourning shroud
Withdrawing slowly down the Western pass.

Now, as our planet`s gently curving sphere
Bows to the grace of resurrecting day,
The sheer blessedness of being here
Bids all my being bend its knee and pray.