To Dawn

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Nature poetry is tricky, mostly because so much has been written that chances are, that whatever you write will border heavily on cliche. But it is nonetheless a great teacher and source of inspiration.

Dawn- slayer of pretence, usher of youth-

you, born anew as passing season,

wield those luminous swords, sharp and uncouth,

and absolve ignorance of reason.

Are you not the mother of sweet knowledge?

Dawn – light of tunnels, well of Saharas:

You, of divine hue, alive in Dark’s death

when all that’s fair is stripped of myrrhs

And Life’s Eden is, fast as youth, but heath.

Are you not the promise that Hope is nigh?

—Mini-anthology: Hepatica—

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