Ode to Morning

I celebrate you, wondrous day
And gladly cast my dreams away
To rise and dance a nobler dream
Beneath kind Sol's benevolent beam.
Gone, fatigue of yesterday
Which like a heavy mantle lay
Around my shoulders at evening time
And over each struggling thought did climb
Until at last did torpor steal
Upon my thoughts which ceased to yield
The will to strive against the night
And break from shadow into light.
So darkness came. My ebbing strength
Had burned at last its final length
And inspiration passed away
With the feeble light of dying day.

What past and future hope to stand
The summons of Sleep's beckoning hand?
What will and wonder can remain
When Sleep quenches desire's flame?
Thus Death claims all beneath its shade,
And in the end all things are laid
To rest until forgotten then
They rise from ash to live again.

So fear not the impending night
And let not this truth from your sight—
New life awaits you in the morn
And so each day a soul's reborn.

George Chadderdon © 1993