Daily Diary, Day 699:
PRELUDE
I watch, fresh from its trek through blackest space,
the cold straight energy of Sun’s white fire
excite at last, the mountain’s cap of lace,
yet fail to melt the frost of sleep’s desire.
Hope softly parts the veil of arbored greens
that canopies the window of your soul
and sweetly holds your boon of lyric dreams
of innocence, within its gentle bowl.
A sprite, transformed into the morning light,
as subtle as the scent of petalled flower
escaping from the slim bud vase of night,
awaits with eager heart, the sunrise hour.
Together now, I kiss your waiting lips
with passion long denied by sleep’s eclipse.
--Joseph Locke