Morn from the East


Morn from the East comes dancing through the gate,
Clad all in flowers and decked in lovely white,
Joyous, light-hearted, in pursuit of night,
Hurrying to where impatient noon doth wait.
All brighter noon with out-stretched hand to greet
The tiring morn where shadows dull the light,
Rushes with eager feet to ‘gin his flight,
Taking the baton from his exhausted mate.
Across his path quite soon the shadows fall
As he into the grasp of evening slips
The torch, and she darts off with eager lips.
Black night is waiting with his cov’ring pall
To take his turn and finish off the race
Ere morn again will come to take his place.