(Untitled)

How appropriate, that on
this Sunday, the start of
Advent, I should be waking,
up awaiting the
Hope of dawning light.

The sky from black, to purple,
and so to violet lightens.
The day long sought
now breaking.
Beyond my windows
lone seagull
Wheels, skybourne,
and lamenting cries
The passing of
the night.

Laggard moon still
cloud-ensconsed
In the blue-ing sky
remind late risers
Of the late-lost
darkness.

This untitled poem is ©:1996 S.N.Mousir-Harrison.