Reading Time: < 1 minute

Poem

THE gray dawn on the mountain top
Is slow to pass away.
Still lays him by in sluggish dreams,
The golden God of day.
And then a light along the hills,
Your laughter silvery gay;
The Sun God wakes, a bluebird trills,
You come and it is day.

Previous Poem
Dawn
Next Poem
Deacon Jones’ Grievance