Mooring Hours

Strange the way of early morning, this stillest silent motion

Mooring hours it veils the day, beyond, a timeless ocean

Neath the dim of graying caste, or painted light and clouds

The harbinger of things to come wrought in skies resound

Verdant plots of earthen ground echo with yesterday

The paths we trod now making clear the overture once played

Bringing forth theme and anthem, assuaging vestige doubt

Memories of pleasure and pain, in measure sounding out

As mercies new at dawn of day, our minds have been at play

Renewed in dreams, transformed by night, meet morning’s silent gaze

A waking sun may oft forget before the sheen of last moon rise

Crescent waning high within a lingering lunar eye

Creatures below the aether there, revel in cycled time

Greeting the day with symphonic sound, a rhythm of new life