The darkness yields to gentle light,

serenity arrived through the air.

Autumn’s fragrance, sharp yet sweet,

lies on my morning everywhere.

 

Dew glistens bright on silver thread,

a spider’s web across the fence,

The apples ripen, blackberries fade,

and pears hang heavy, pendulous, and dense.

 

The crow erupts with jagged cries,

a herald for the waking day.

No melody, yet still it tells

that time will not be kept at bay.

 

This hour I cherish most of all,

a moment brimming, hushed, complete.

To live in peace, in modest wealth,

is fortune rare, and deeply sweet.

 

But elsewhere dawn breaks differently 

in Gaza’s smoke, in Ukraine’s fire.

Somalia’s children greet the day

with hunger’s weight and of war they tire

 

Would I find poetry in such skies,

or morning’s grace in such a sorrowful place?

I doubt it, though I thank my lucky stars,

and curse the hands that scar others space.