Aurora

The cold morning climbs out of slumber.

From the numb embrace of night, it enters.

The sun still wrapped in the arms of a cloud,

crouching away from the chilly winds around.

The damp grass awaiting the golden crown.

A bare icy branch complaining with the slightest frown.

A shy rose peeping from dewy lids.

The leaf's talking to it in words full of mist.

The sun, playing coy, winks at the sky.

It rolls out slowly and embraces with a sigh.

Kisses the rose, takes the branch under a charm.

And, once again the grass feels warm.

One more day and the sun would be gone.

Only to come back, as bright as today it had shone.