The Morning Sun

The Morning Sun

The morning sun peeks
above the  trees in fall colors
lower to the south

Winter chills begin
with its rude expenditures
of relentless frost

Radio talkers
moan with hidden emotion
in leaf-dry voices

Outside travels slow
with thoughtful preparation
mindful dark lengthens

Warmer socks come out
coats from the back of closets
they puff up with pride

Mice rustle at night
in search of hard won meals
evil traps readied

Stores sell snow shovels
ready new holiday lights
covered shoulders shrug 

This change demands dreams
there is a summer ahead
beyond winter's chill

Don't count these photons
useless larger numbers fly
their wings clipped at dusk 

Barry G. Wick