A Fading Sunday Morning.

By: Anyssa Q. E

It is the hour between sleep and wake,

when the starlight hits my inner-eye,

it seems to glitter as light upon lake,

this gleaming spark in a steaming sky. 

 

First a swipe, a dolloped hue;

the rosy blush of morning dew;

a sysphean seeming morning haze,

I've quietly dreamt of better days. 

 

 

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