The sun peeps its weary head over the hills,
Bathing the world in its glow.
The morning sky is streaked pale pink,
The earth's bright morning bow.
The tears of the Moon, as the wax from a candle,
Lie glittering on the frosty ground.
The stars seem to have fallen in perfect harmony,
To create a magical carpet all around.
Bleary eyes open,
Little ones awake,
Rub away the remainder of sleep.
Dreaming time is over,
All the sheep are counted,
And it's time to go and live out those dreams.
The house is, oh, so quiet as she tiptoes down the hall,
A silhouette in a white night dress.
She slips up to the window, rests her hands upon the sill,
And wishes for happiness, no more and no less.
YOU ARE READING
Newspaper Cuttings
PoetryA collage of human life. Each one of us has a story, and each day, just for a moment, they cross, making us characters in someone else's. But are we heroes, or villains? That is up to you. ______________________________________________________ Some...
