Quiet early morning joy.
Trees dancing in shadow walls
Against music, feather drums.
Mothers nourishing the nature of uncertainty
Nested only to fly away and try
Floating, maybe
To mornings elsewhere.
They rise and grow thick with time
Then bow to fragile memories
Swaying long casted hymns like
Barely remembered voices
Branching shadows of yesterday.
Though always, light arrives
Dancing the earth and hesitant wings
Into this moment from its last.
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