A crowning of clouds hugs the sky,
deep and lusciously does it lie,
a bit like a blanket atop the bed,
the type that makes you want to snuggle deeper,
never wanting to get out and up and start your day.

And as the eastern horizon slowly catches fiery light,
it seems to be an assumed fact that this day will
roll on like all the rest.
This may be assumed, I suppose – as most days do indeed roll on.
But what does this say of us that we have lost our sense of wonder
of the dawn?

And so now, see now,
we most diligently employ these fancy wrappers and this coiffed hair and these most proper accouterments
to carry ourselves as high and lofty persons,
but so now, see now,
though we style ourselves as a grand affair,
fragile and weak are we in and of ourselves for true,
and though we do a good job to hide that fact, our infirmities cripple us in a deeper sense
than merely what our eyes can see now.

Still I must acknowledge that our eyes lift to heaven and catch the dawning light
a bit like our flesh and bones and souls alike are crafted –
to the tune of that greater music
to the harmony of that more beautiful truth
to the song of that more truthful beauty.
and sweetly does that herald cry
of crowning glory from the sky.