5am and counting…

That midnight we spoke of, and marvelled at its clothed array, it looks so timid in the eyes of nocturnals, who bake their silver skins in moonlight, and sew their seeds amidst the dew to farm a golden promise and harvest us a fiery dawn that breaks atop unrested eyes like stars on their horizons, whose heavy lids and padded sheets can’t hide the glare of morning.