“Morn”

The sun glow starts,

the birds sing lightly,

with ever so gently waves of sounds.

Ever so softly the waves understand my mind,

understand what I find,

understandably blind.

The sun bushes color over the clear ocean blue,

changing the hue,

asking for nothing,

not in need of a clue.

As the light enters the sky,

it enters the minds,

the minds of all who seek,

or not seek.

The air is calm,

for now.

The sounds are small,

for now.

For this is the calm,

not before a storm,

but before life is born.

This is a beauty,

a flourishing of a core

this, is morn.

Poem By: Thomas McGregor

Samantha Jean Sanders, Editor

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