-- The Beauty of the Morning -–

John Herlihy

The beauty of the morning had laid my heart bear;

I could do little but breathe deeply and simply stare.

The day had a rhythm that matched my heartbeat;

A spread of lush grass beneath offered a regal seat.

The ultramarine blue of the morning filled the sky;

The sheer intensity of its color always told the same lie.

The off-white pillow clouds floated like ships at sea.

Was that a damsel in distress looking from afar at me?

Our imagination always takes us to a far distant shore,

In search of truth, of beauty, of bliss, and so much more.

Yet we seldom look overhead, around, beneath our feet,

Who knows but that we may a talking caterpillar meet.

The gentle wind lingers behind with its cautious sigh,

To brush-stroke my face as I there in the grass lie.

The roar of last night’s storm now a voice of the past,

True to the adage that on earth nothing will ever last.

The lip of horizon touches infinite sky with tenderness;

The ancient sun bathed the world in its sweet caress.

The clarity of the light sparkled upon every leaf and flower,

Drawn from the water-well of infinity to mark the hour.

Under the blue dome of Heaven lies a brown-green earth;

My watchful eye ever probing to understand its worth.

In such a dream lies the reality of the watchful eye;

Not I, but the eye-witness within me that wonders why.

- - - - - -

(c) John Herlihy 11 December 2018