Before the night lifted away
Like a little black bird
Catching a sigh
Before the day even spoke
Before the morning’s silver breath
Enchanted the window pane
And the golden sun rolled down
Each snow struck roof
Before any bird had thought
To fill the barren branches
With a song
And the brittle vine to chatter
On the sill
And the memory of moon
Press faces through the dawn
Before all this
I somehow knew
The day was filled
With every kind of hope




Sara Mathews     December 2017