Wings of the morning flutter to life
soft as a whisper, a solemn flight.
Whooshes, amber, push forth a new day
dawn of the morning--
the birth of pure light.
Flights of angels embrace the quiet night
in arms worn, ancient, compassion soothes.

Wings of the morning kissed with sweet dew
soundless hover over the earth
each with a rhythm older than time.
Dawn’s recreation--
a wondrous sight--
comes every morning, following night.
Each day a promise for ev’ry life.

Wings of the morning knowing but old
wait for the moment when His plan unfolds.
Things automatic someday will cease.
Dawn infinity
no fingers of night.
What a wondrous glorious time
when all revel with fluttering wings.