Morning stirs the soul
A fresh cold beneath a clear sky
Whose sun draws sharp shadows
And light upon the grass
Where the corpse of the storm
Still dampens the fallen leaves
Whose lovers dive towards them
In flutters, they'll die then
Shuttered away from the heavens
Each slight breeze a sacrifice
Each whistle and call of nature exists
Only to wake the still-living
Allow them a day's march toward death
Hanging moss sways, some fall
Some stay for last call
Morning stirs the soul
A message to the bold, who would dare
Breathe at all, this cool air
That sees all, and says nothing
But carries every expectant breath
That dares not linger long enough
To leave a word on my lips.
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